


With Up So Floating (Many Bells Down)

by Writegirl



Series: Fucked Up Love Songs [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, BAMF Darcy Lewis, BAMF Phil Coulson, Character Death Fix, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Angst, Nick Fury Feels, Original Character(s), Phil Coulson's Cellist, Protective Avengers, Recovery, Thor Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writegirl/pseuds/Writegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After New York, after new aliens and fighting and everything else, Darcy didn't think her life could get any stranger.</p><p>She was so, so wrong.</p><p>WARNING: This is the happy ending part of my choose your own ending fic.</p><p> </p><p> <i>  “Oh my God, Coulson is totally getting his mack on.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is the happy ending part of my series. So, if you want feels and luls and gooey, sugery stuff, this is the section for you. Kinda. You'll see.
> 
> Title comes from "Anyone Lived In a Pretty How Town" by e.e. cummings. It kinda inspired this whole collection of lunacy.

                When Coulson stopped breathing so did Fury.

        Twenty years of working with a man gave you a certain connection. A rhythm that made you work in synch to an extent most people never experienced. A few people who didn’t value their lives likened it to a couple, married so long that neither had secrets from the other. Phil Coulson knew what he wanted before he wanted it, knew how to make whatever twisted black-ops dreams he concocted a reality. He knew when to give Phil his head, let him run an op his way even if that way gave the WSC fits and threatened the sovereignty of several nations. The man also did what most people would have considered impossible: he made Fury his friend. It was a friendship that Nick returned.

        “Sir,”

        He didn’t need to be told anything else, just moved aside as the EMTs did their work. Phil’s suit, deceptively plain and very expensive, was slit at the site of the wound, the hole assessed by one as another opened a line and started a plasma infusion. He stood silent for tense minutes as the three worked, until Phil’s chest moved on its own with a bubbling, ragged breath. 

        “Stabilize him if you can, but his survival as of this moment is level seven security.”

        The EMTs snapped their eyes to him for all of two seconds before returning to their charge. With the precision of long practice they had Coulson strapped to a gurney and moving to the infirmary.

        The clatter of something hitting the floor was almost swallowed by the sound of the gurney locking into place. Once the EMTs were clear Fury squatted down.

        The cell phone wasn’t one he recognized, not SHIELD issue. A black Samsung, screen streaked with blood. Fury picked it up and swiped a thumb across to reveal a passcode screen. He thought for a moment and typed in a series of numbers. _7*4*1920*3*15*1942_ , the two birthday’s of Captain America. One was known by just about any school kid who developed an interest in the first real superhero. The second was only known by those who waded through the old SSR files in storage.

        The phone opened onto a text conversation, and Nick hung his head. _Stay safe!!!!_ From SexyD was the last received message.

        Phil never got a chance to send his.

        Fury turned off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. There was shit that needed doing, and he was the one to do it. With his dying breath Phil gave him the key to getting the Initiative off the ground.

        _This was never gonna work, if they didn’t have something to…_

        If they didn’t have something for them to rally behind.

* * *

        “You have to stay for at least twenty four hours for observation, Mr. Stark.”

        Tony ignored the doctor giving him her best ‘I’m the adult you need to listen to me’ face and pulled on his battered clothes. 

        The doctor kept talking, despite his pretending she wasn’t there. “From what we were told…I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re experiencing right now, but you need to stay under close observation. There is no way to know what traveling through-”

        “I have someone smarter than you who can watch me twenty-four seven without blinking an eye,” he mumbled into his shirt. The metal of the reactor case pulled at his chest. “Besides, someone needs this bed more than me.”

        The doctor looked torn. On the one hand he needed medical attention, but it wasn’t pressing. On the other there were people still pouring into Mercy General with life-threatening injuries. “Constant supervision,” she said quickly. “Any dizziness, sudden fatigue, _hemorrhaging,_ and you go to a hospital immediately.”

        “Will do.”

        She was gone before the ‘will’ was all the way out.

        Tony jumped off the gurney where he’d spent the last six hours. He had no idea where the rest of the team was. He imagined Clint and Natasha were in some SHIELD controlled medical bay judging by the way she limped out of the Shwarma Palace and Barton’s dead-eyed stare. Rogers, ever the faithful soldier, was probably with them; and if Bruce had any sense he was crossing the border into Canada. 

        “Boss?”

        “Tony!”

        A white blur barreled into his arms, and he could just make out Pepper’s smell through the scent of astringent and blood. “Pep.”

        “Are you all right? Have they cleared you to leave? What are you doing up?” Her eyes searched the crowds around them, no doubt looking for a doctor to get a full rundown on his condition.

        “Hey…look…it’s okay…I’m fine,” he cupped her face. She looked so worried, her features pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed. “Doc just gave me the all-clear.”

        Pepper hugged him again, and he soaked it in. He hated worrying her like this. 

        “We saw the Tower on the news,” she whispered to him as her hands ran through the hair at his nape. “No one knew if you were alive.”

        “How did you-“

        “We were able to assist Ms. Potts in getting through the general cordon around Manhattan.”

        Tony looked past Pepper and Happy to a short, dark man with glasses and a plain suit. Even in the hospital he couldn’t get away from SHIELD.

        “General cordon?”

        “All bridges, tunnels, and ferries have been shut down to nearly all incoming traffic. The only ones allowed onto the island are emergency personnel. Refugees are allowed to exit to stay in several emergency camps being set up by FEMA.”

        Refugees. In America. He shook his head to clear it. “Is Stark Tower all right?”

        Pepper dug out her phone and dialed JARVIS.

        “Ms. Potts.” The AI greeted. “I trust you have entered Manhattan safely?”

        “Yes.”

        “J!” Tony forced cheer into his voice. “How’s it going?”

        “The arc reactor has restarted without difficulty sir and is currently at ninety-eight percent capacity.”

        “How’s the Tower doing?”

        “Aside from cosmetic damage my systems report that the building remains structurally sound, sir.” 

        He rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow and winced when it caught on one of his stitches. “Good. How much empty space do we have?”

        “Floors 1-12, 16, 22, 39, and 67 through eighty remain completely vacant, sir. All other floors have been leased out.” Before he could ask something else the AI continued. “Of those leased, only twenty percent have been moved into. Would you like me to provide a list?”

        “Yeah, J.” He did some calculations. Judging by the destruction he saw there would be thousands of people without a place to stay once they started letting civilians back in. “I need cots. Cots, dividers, chairs, blankets...” He could coordinate with FEMA, get some of the people out of temporary shelters and into a place with walls.

        “I will contact Mr. Fugate with your offer as soon as I have compiled the required lists, sir.”

        “Thanks, J. Families first, though.”

        “Of course. Should I also offer rooms in your subsidiary hotels free of charge?”

        Oh yeah, those. They would be more comfortable. “Sure J, go nuts.”

        “Mr. Stark,” Agent Glasses started once JARVIS hung up. “Director Fury would like you to come in for debriefing as soon as possible.” 

        Tony sighed. “Couldn’t he wait…like… a day? Maybe two?” He flew a damn nuke, one of _their_ damn nukes, into a wormhole and saved a city. If that didn’t earn a person downtime…

        Glasses didn’t frown. He tried to pull a poker face, but it was nothing on Agent’s.

        Phil.

        “Tony?” Pepper’s eyes searched his. 

        He blinked. Pepper and Phil were friends, he knew that. Teased her about it at times when he found out she’d met with the enemy over lunch. “Pep…Phil…” _Phil died. He tried to take on a god alone and it got him killed._ Tony felt her shoulders tense, her hand clench around his. “Loki…he…” _stabbed him in the back, left him to bleed out while he made his escape._ She raised a hand to his cheek and he closed his eyes. He knew that gesture. He liked it. It was her you don’t need to say anything touch.

        “Mr. Stark?”

        Oh…right… they had a non-Happy audience. “You should get back to the Tower, Pep,” he said offhandedly. “Sit down, watch out for the Loki-hole in the floor.”

        “Loki-hole?”

        “I’ll explain when I get back. In fact, have JARVIS show you the footage. Happy?” _Make sure she gets home safe. Take care of her. Kill anyone who tries to hurt her._

        “Will do, boss.”

        He watched as Pepper dodged through the sea of gurneys and people towards what he assumed was an exit. When he couldn’t see her hair anymore he turned to Glasses. “Shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the massive wait between updates. Internet issues and all. Anyway, here's the chapter! Hope you enjoy ^_^

        Loki examined the ceiling of his new cell. SHIELD must fear the green beast terribly to have made so many, he mused with a wince. Not that he blamed them after being on the wrong end of its rage. Mindless or not, the creature was raw power. Only once before had something done this to him: shown him how weak he was, how helpless in its grasp. It was only luck that made the giant lose interest in him so quickly, before it could do more permanent damage. He imagined even Thor would be unable to pry him free of its clutches.

        Over a day passed since his defeat at the hands of the humans by his reckoning, though there were no devices to let him know. A day spent half-in-half-out of consciousness as his wounds healed themselves. Even the easiest of spells was near impossible for him to manage as much of his energy went into knitting bones and sinews. They were denying him food, most likely at Thor’s insistence. It would slow down his ability to heal but not halt it entirely. A few more hours, two days at most, and he would be able to teleport out of his prison.

        After a cursory examination to determine that he would, in fact, live, the humans left him alone. Threw him into this cell, so much like his previous one, and ignored him. There was nothing he had that they needed. The Tesseract, the device that could bridge worlds, whatever they could glean from the Chitauri’s weaponry, all of it was theirs for the taking. He had nothing. Nothing to bargain for his life with.

        Nothing to give Thanos.

        The outer doors to his prison opened with a hiss and the tall man, Fury, strode in with Thor on his heels. The thunderer looked pensive, eyes pinched. Loki hoped he wasn’t thinking. Odin knew how much damage he could do to himself if he tried that.

        “Your brother tells us it will take time before a device is made that will take you back to Asgard. We have Stark working on it.”

        He didn’t respond, focused instead on breathing steadily. The pain would fade in time. Hopefully before they discovered how to change the exit vector of the device.

        “Whatever you did to Selvig, he’s spent the last twelve hours working, sketching in a notebook; equations and designs that have our top scientists scratching their heads.” The dark man tilted his head. “How much of it is real?”

        “All of it,” he rasped, and let them think of that what they will. Whatever information the man was able to retain from the Tesseract would be of no help to them, not when Thanos learned of his failure. He would die and Midgard would burn if for nothing more than being a minor hindrance to the Eternal’s plans. Perhaps they would be lucky and one of Selvig’s revelations would destroy the planet before Thanos got there.

        “Good. Because this was the first thing he made.”

        Loki turned his head to see what the man held, and fought down a scream. The devices were a different color, the metal thick and inelegant, but he knew well what they were for. For a moment he was not in his glass cage. He was pinned to a barren rock, face-down as strips of flesh were peeled from his back.

        _You think you know pain?_

        He must have given himself away somehow because the speculation in the man’s face turned to outright joy. “Thor, if you will?”

        It took seconds for the thick door of his cell to open, seconds where he tried to stand, to defend himself, but there was nothing he could do. Not when Thor pressed him into the thin cot, when the shackles were secured on his wrists. He could feel the familiar torrent of his magic deaden to a trickle, felt the pain of his wounds double. He gasped, eyes closed against the onslaught.

        “Dr. Selvig did his work well,” Thor remarked, the traitor. “Loki will be unable to escape using magic.”

        “Good.”

        Loki opened his eyes to see Thor and the human watching him. At least his so-called brother had the decency to look uncomfortable at this latest humiliation. He glanced down at his hands and saw they were still Aesir pale. The dampeners did not destroy his glamour. He would kill them for this, starting with Selvig. He would show the human what he learned at Thanos’ hands, would make them beg for death before the end. He smiled then, imagined how the human before him would look without his remaining eye, his face devoid of skin. 

        Thor’s expression darkened even further.

* * *

        Adjusting to the aftermath of an alien invasion was strange.

        Manhattan was completely evacuated by the army in the days after First Contact, as the news called it; officially to make sure none of the aliens survived being cut off from the mother ship and to contain any potential biohazard situation before it exploded. He knew it was to make sure that none of the weapons dropped by the aliens ended up in any hands other than SHIELD’s. Paranoia aside, the first person to reverse engineer any of the weapons or the hover technology was going to have a serious advantage over the rest of the world. 

        Which was why Tony made sure he had the biggest selection of toys.

        It was criminally easy convincing the people who needed convincing that evacuating him with the rest of Manhattan was a stupid idea. One, he was Iron Man. He could do heavy lifting like nothing else except Thor, and everyone was happier with the god keeping an eye on his homicidal brother. His lasers made removing the space whales easier, if more disgusting. Two, the only replacement arc reactors he had were located at Stark Tower, which was ground zero of the invasion. He didn’t keep spares lying around as it was. There were too many agencies willing to pay anyone their weight in gold to get their hands on one of his babies so the fewer the better. Three, and the best, was his ability to handle any possible survivors on his own. One quick call to the mayor, a few reminders to his friends in the military and a promise to FEMA that they could use a vacant floor of Stark Tower as their base of operations for the interim, and Tony Stark was officially the last civilian living in Manhattan.

        Officially being the important term.

        “We have that DNA sample ready, Dr. Banner?”

        Bruce looked up in his lab, eyes cutting to the view screen. “Sequencing will be complete in 84 hours,” he reported with a shake of his head. “I think Harvard University will kill you when you make this technology commercial.”

        Stark shrugged. “Not cost effective enough yet. They have another year to feel good about themselves.”

        When he made it back to Stark Tower he found Banner passed out on his couch, covered by a blanket. The blanket was Pepper’s doing he found out later, after JARVIS assured her that Tony would view Dr. Banner as a valued guest. Tony had no delusions about SHIELD knowing he was harboring Banner, and he didn’t care. From what he saw Hulk could take care of himself and with Manhattan evacuated there would be no civilians, no reason for him to hold back. His mind went to an image of the Hulk, green fist buried wrist deep in the body of the Chitauri creature, the beast itself _buckling_ from a single blow that stopped it cold.

        Bruce wrote down something in his lab book. “How’re things on your end?” 

        Tony shook himself. “Jarvis, we have a spectral analysis yet?”

        Information appeared in front of him, detailing the makeup of one of the Chitauri weapons. Stark hummed.

        “Spectral analysis shows four components with elements not found anywhere on Earth, sir,” the AI announced. “However, I have cross-referenced the data and found what I believe to be suitable replacement elements if you wish to begin fabrication.”

        “Any more information available on the power source?”

        “It appears to be similar to a HYDRA weapon, based on the schematics taken from the Helicarrier.” Without being asked JARVIS pulled up the information they had on HYDRA’s weapons, as well as a rendering of the Tesseract. “Unlike them, however, the energy is not self sustaining.”

        It was a good design. Energy weapons with unlimited ammo could be picked up and used by the enemy, like Schmidt learned from the Howling Commandos. Weapons that couldn’t work without a commanding mothership were useless unless the enemy decided to use them as clubs. He would have to work out how, though. A signal, which once it was no longer received by the weapon caused the power source to begin depleting? He knew from experimentation that the weapons could be fired an average of fifteen times before powering down permanently.

        Tony stared at the Tesseract. The strange aura that surrounded the actual object was missing in its render, but he could almost feel the same searching energy. When he first saw it in the files Coulson gave him he recognized the preliminary readings. The ambient radiation, the wavelength of light it emitted, everything was eerily familiar to the arc reactor.

        Stark knocked the renderings aside for the moment, fighting to push aside the slimy feeling in his chest. “What have you got on that other thing, Jarvis?”

        Files opened quickly, floating pale blue in his workspace. “Agent Coulson is survived by a sister, Cassandra Olander nee Coulson, who is currently stationed at Spangdahlem Air Base in Germany. According to recent purchases made from her account she is planning to return to the United States within the next forty-eight hours.” JARVIS paused. “Other than Mrs. Olander I’m afraid Agent Coulson had no other living family.”

        Tony tapped out a beat on his thigh. "What about that other-other thing?"

        “I have been able to locate an individual I believe may be the cellist Agent Coulson spoke of at your last meeting. Would you like me to display the information, sir?” New screens opened as he spoke.

        She was younger than he expected. 

        Her most recent Facebook picture showed her elbow deep in what looked like dough, wearing an ‘I Make This Look Good’ apron half obscured by the mound. JARVIS found out as much information about Darcy Lewis as he could dredge from the web. A former New Mexico State student, a freaking political science major at that. Assistant to Jane Foster, a name he recognized from SHIELD’s files concerning Thor and the ‘New Mexico Incident’ as they dubbed his arrival. Until January of that year she was working in New Mexico, then she pulled up stakes and moved back home.

        He thought about that last conversation with Phil on the way to the Helicarrier. It was the only time he could recall seeing the man uncomfortable, when he brought up his cellist and why he hadn’t told Tony. They spent three hours dancing around the topic before Coulson was comfortable enough to talk about her. He even offered to let him borrow the jet for a weekend visit.

  _She went back to Portland._

        “Does she-“

        “SHIELD has made no attempt to contact her, sir.”

        Tony frowned. “No phone calls?”

        “There have been no official attempts to contact Ms. Lewis by any SHIELD personnel since she stopped working with Dr. Foster in January of this year.”

        He stood up. “JARVIS, shut down the lab. Hey, Big Guy, think you can hold down the fort for thirty-six hours or so?”

        Bruce blinked at him. “Trouble?”

        “Nope!” He forced cheer into his voice. “Just trying to fix something back west.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> For time purposes I've made it so Thor and Loki have to spend a few days on Earth before heading back to Asgard. This is due to the fact that Thor had no device on him for the Tesseract to power when he first appears, meaning one had to be built. I imagine Odin gave him instructions before sending him back to Earth.
> 
> The other reason is because I have been studying (if you can call it that) what would happen in the case of an alient invasion (thank you NatGeo). One thing my sources seem to agree on is the need for the immediate area around the invasion to be completely quarantined for health purposes. Since their are people in the background at the end, it means that the quarantine was lifted and people were back in Manhattan.
> 
>  
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait between chapters. Life has been...well... _life_. But, new chapter!

        Darcy was climbing the walls.

        Literally. She climbed onto the back wall of her mother’s property, perched her back against the cool damp stone, and refused to come down until her phone needed charging or until she couldn’t stay awake any longer. The spot where the low fence of their back wall met the higher one of the Fullers was always her favorite growing up. The citrus trees her mother planted kept the spot hidden from the house, and the oversized ledge was strangely comfortable once she found the right position. Growing up it was where she went when things got to be too much. When she needed somewhere to think about something other than what was happening in her house. The little lean-too she made in high school either fell on its own or was removed, but that didn’t matter. When it decided to rain she grabbed a golf umbrella and a trash bag and set up shop.

        Sleep, when it came, was no relief. When Darcy did finally nod off every sound woke her, she was so afraid of missing a call or text. It was six days since her last text or call from Phil. Six days. She couldn’t focus, she couldn’t calm down. When she tried to sleep all she could do was imagine what happened. Maybe he was hurt, maybe he lost his phone. Maybe his hands were terribly burned and so wrapped in bandages that he couldn’t work a phone, and was feeling like an utter dick because he couldn’t reassure her that he was okay.

        Maybe she was lying to herself.

        On day four Ginger talked her down with her favorite mug full of black currant tea and three triple-honey scones straight from the oven. Darcy’s stomach chose to remind her that yes, she needed food to survive, and it was tired of listening to whatever problems her head and heart were suffering from.

        “Still nothing?” Ginger asked when half the tea and two scones were gone.

        Darcy shook her head.

        Ginger gave her a hug, one that smelled of myrrh and currants. “The news said people are still being found alive, hon. I’m sure he’s all right.”

        “I’m not.” Just saying it made hot, heavy tears flood her eyes. And then there was Clint. She tried calling the last number he gave her but after fifteen rings it clicked off. She tried twice a day, every day, since Phil told her he wasn’t sure if his friend made it out. She thought back to the rows of body bags the news showed and wondered which one of them was him. 

        At least she didn’t have to worry about Jane. She got a frantic phone call from Jane about a sustained energy signature similar to the Bifrost that was like nothing she’d ever seen, and how SHIELD was refusing to let her get to New York to study it closer despite the fact that the aliens appeared to be dead. From what Darcy knew no one was allowed on Manhattan, not even the people who lived there. The astrophysicist was practically under house arrest, even though they _knew_ she would want to see Thor. The first time she asked about Phil Darcy dropped her phone in the sink. She didn’t have the heart to tell her, didn’t want to theorize on the odds in case she jinxed something.

        “You need a shower,” her aunt said point blank once she let her go. “You smell like old concrete and wood.”

        Darcy made a noise in the back of her throat, something that could have translated into I-like-it-leave-me-alone-I-don’t-mention-when-you-smell.

        “Diane’s worried about you.” Her aunt tossed her head towards the house. Darcy followed her gaze to the second story, where one of the blinds twitched back into place.

        “She hasn’t said anything.”

        “Exactly.” The woman’s smile was small and smug. “Usually she’d be yelling at you to get over it by now. I think we’re making progress.” Ginger watched her as she ate the last scone and finished her tea before getting up and getting her more. When she tried to turn the mug down her aunt shrugged and set it on the patio table. 

        “You’ll need it in about forty five minutes,” she said as she opened the sliding glass door. “One of those was double strength.”

        Darcy looked down at her plate, then at her aunt, tired eyes wide. “You tricked me.”

        “You should take a shower and get in bed,” Ginger said calmly. She cocked her head. “I changed your sheets, too.”

        The brunette folded her arms.

        The older woman shrugged. “Fine. Get stuck out there if you want. When one of the raccoons comes down and tries to eat your face, don’t blame me.”

        Thirty minutes later Darcy carried her cold tea inside and headed to her room to grab her shower basket.

* * *

        “I _demand_ to see Thor!”

        The SHIELD agent just stared at her. “My orders are to keep you here until Director Fury says otherwise, Ma’am.”

        Jane growled and fought the urge to tackle the man. He was heavier than her, sure, but force was mass multiplied by acceleration. She could take him if she managed a running start. At the least she could zip past him into the hallway. She was on the Culver track team, and those shoes looked like they weren’t made for anything faster than stalking.

        “I don’t believe this,” she hissed, running a hand through her hair. 

        It took over a week to get back to the states. Over forty-eight hours of actually being lied to to her face by her ‘assistants’: three of which were SHIELD agents. It wasn’t until she bribed a non-SHIELD coworker into smuggling in printouts from the web that she knew what the hell was going on. Another day of frantically calling everyone back home to make sure they were safe while her assistants (now jailers) informed her that SHIELD was handling the situation. It was only two days ago that they told her that Eric was alive and in observation (observation for _what_ no one would explain). The rest of the time was spent under house arrest in Tromso, followed by a painfully slow return to the states in which SHIELD thought it would be best for her to be flown across Eurasia and into Los Angeles before finally getting her to New York.

        And stonewalling her at a mobile headquarters on Long Island.

        Which was how she found herself in a spacious, well-decorated office complete with minibar and muffin basket, staring down Goon #4 with her only instructions being ‘wait until Fury shows up’.

        Fuck. That. Shit.

        She tried another track. “Even if the Director wanted you to keep me here, surely he realizes that the longer it takes for me to examine the phenomenon the harder the data will be to correct. I know you have labs here that can accommodate at least some of what I need. The radiation signature has already faded! There’s no telling what-”

        “Jane?”

        The voice was hoarse.

        “Eric!”She darted past her guard (she was small, but quick) and into the hallway.

        And stopped dead.

        Eric looked like… she didn’t know what he looked like. She only saw him less that put together once: when he and Thor decided to have a drinking contest. Eric Selvig hung over, skin pale and eyes red was something she never imagined seeing.

        This… this was so much worse.

        Eric wasn’t just pale, he was grey, and his eyes were bloodshot with heavy bags that meant he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes hung on his frame and over a week’s worth of stubble obscured his jaw. Jane approached him slowly, like she would an unstable reactor. “Eric?”

        He smiled, but it was a small, sickly thing. “Dr. Foster.”

        She reached out to hug him and Eric, the man who practically raised her since her father died, the man who always stood by her, backed away a step. Her hands balled into fists. “What happened?”

        Goon #4 put a hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Foster, I need you-“

        She shrugged the hand off, eyes focused on her friend. “Eric, what’s going on?”

        “I’m fine, Jane.” His smile was too wide to be genuine, his eyes dull. “Just tired.”

        She worked her mouth for a moment. “Fine? You are obviously not fine. What have they been doing to you?”

        The hand was back, more insistent and Jane had enough. She ducked, leaving the man holding nothing but her jacket, grabbed his hand, and _twisted_. She never actually planned on using the move, but like Darcy said it would it worked. Goon #4, with at least four inches on her, folded forward and cursed, his arms twisted behind him.

        “Dr. Foster, why are you manhandling one of my agents?”

        Jane released the man guiltily and charged towards Fury. “I’m manhandling one of your agents because I have literally been flown all over the world to keep me away from New York,” _from Thor,_ she added mentally. “I have been lied to, held against my will, shipped off to the ass-end of the planet-”

        The director’s eyes flickered to his agent as she spoke, and the man walked off stiffly. “I’m afraid that was for your own benefit, Dr. Foster,” Fury interrupted. “We were unsure of the nature of the threat and needed you out of harm’s way.” 

        “But-”

        “Jane?”

        It was the second time someone said her name in a voice she feared she’d never hear again. Behind the director, dressed in plainclothes with Mjolnir tied to his belt was Thor. He was smiling, not the broad smile she remembered, but full of the same happiness.

        His eyes went from her to Eric, and the smile slipped to something softer, pained. “Are you well today, Eric?”

        Eric hadn’t moved during the entire exchange. He flinched at his name, eyes searching. “Fine…fine…” he started down the hallway.

        “Eric!”

        “Perhaps it would be better to let him go, Jane,” Thor said softly. “I’m afraid the doctor still is not himself.”

        “Not him…” she looked between Thor and Fury. “What is going on?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait between chapters. But, to make up for it, here's a little more of my fic! Hope you enjoy.

         Tony decided not to take the suit to Portland, partially because the Air Force was still twitchy since the whole alien invasion thing. Rhodey warned him that there was a ‘shoot first, sort through the wreckage later’ memo going around all the armed forces, and after the week he just had dodging F-22’s was not Tony Stark's idea of fun. Besides, Pepper kept bothering him about having a jet and not actually using it.

         The flight in was normal. He replaced his staff (more accurately, Pepper replaced his staff) when they became an official thing, so the stewardesses kept their clothes on and the alcohol was kept to a bare minimum. He spent the first out of the flight trying to sleep, but that was an utter disaster. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see were stars: cold, dark, alien stars. When he tried to breathe there was nothing but frigid iciness piercing his chest. When Sandy woke him twice because he ‘seemed to be distressed’ he gave up entirely and started on designs for a suit that would function properly outside atmosphere. Which morphed into him theorizing on how to double the energy output on his standard arc reactor without significant structural changes and segued into an attempted calculation of the Hulk’s maximum possible strength. Since there wasn’t any data on that (but plenty on how he seemed to get _stronger_ the madder he became) it made the possibilities almost frightening enough for him to stop.

         Almost.

         By the time the plane landed at Portland International he had JARVIS requisitioning metals and materials for three different suits under Flash Gordon, DWW, and Hulk's Best Friend. The schematics weren’t complete yet, but it never hurt to get everything in place first. It wasn’t until he rang the doorbell to Darcy’s house that he realized he hadn’t thought about what to tell her.

         When no one answered after a minute he rang the bell again. And again. He leaned to the side. Yep, there were two cars in the driveway, one of which was registered to Darcy. He was about to ring again when the door swung open.

         “Who the he-“

 

         Darcy was dreaming. She had to be. Otherwise, why would Tony Stark (or a damn good look-alike) be standing on the front porch, ringing the bell like the most annoying Girl Scout ever? She leaned around him and took in the… cross between an Audi and a limo? Whatever it was, it wasn’t standard.

         The look-alike was talking “-Lewis?”

         “Huh?” Her attention snapped back to him.

         “I said you can’t be Darcy Lewis.” He looked her up and down. “I mean, Agent doesn’t have that kind of taste.” His eyes went to her breasts and stayed there a second too long.

         “I have a tazer,” she informed him. “And who the hell is Agent?” She smacked his finger away from the doorbell. “Who the hell are you?”

         The question sobered him. “Tony Stark,” he said abruptly, as if that was a magic word. 

         She raised an eyebrow. “Tony Stark.”

         “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist extraordinaire. Yeah, that’s me.”

         “Prove it.”

         He looked like she kicked him. “Prove it?”

         “Yeah.” When the look of stunned pain didn’t fade she rolled her eyes. “ID? Driver’s license? Library card?”

         He looked lost, then snapped his fingers and pulled out a phone (it looked like a STARK X50G, but it was bigger, the case was pearl and holy _hell_ , she had a new addition to her Christmas list) and dialed a number.

         “Hey! Pep! Yeah, I need to prove who I am. No, I didn’t get arrested again. Here.” He flipped _something_ on the screen and turned it around.

         “Tony, I swear if you’ve picked up-“

         “You’re… you’re Pepper Potts.” Okay, someone could be a damn good Tony Stark look-alike, but she knew Pepper Potts. She had a crush on the woman since she saw a picture of her in Vogue magazine at a gala, all cool silk and red hair. Pepper Pots was an embarrassingly large part of the reason she became a political science major. She was Darcy’s official free pass, the person she would quit her job for just to be her doormat. And she was staring at the woman (who was wearing a crisp black suit in what was obviously an executive office) with her mouth hanging open.

        _Smooth, Lewis. Real smooth._

         Pepper, for her part, cocked her head to the side, eyes squinted in concern. “Is Tony harassing you?”

        _I’m talking to Pepper Potts. I’m talking to Pepper Potts. I’m talking to-_

         “Pep, I think you broke her.”

         Darcy shook herself. “No…no…he’s…” her eyes slid to Stark, who was staring at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “You’re Tony Stark.”

         The man beamed at her and flicked the phone off of video. “Thanks Pep, I’ll be home in a few hours.” He slid the phone into a pocket and looked pointedly at the door. “Can we talk inside? I mean, we can talk outside, but-“

         Darcy opened the door and the man breezed in like he not only owned the house, but the block and possibly a good part of downtown. Which in all honesty he could. She gave a last look at the Audi/Limo and closed the door, but didn’t lock it.

         Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, aka People’s Most Eligible Bachelor seven years running (and the National Enquirer’s Biggest Celebrity Slut until last year) stood in the center of the living room, sunglasses in hand. He was staring particularly hard at a picture she put up when she moved back in: she and Phil at the Sante Fe State Fair before they go rained out.

         “So… that’s…” he indicated the picture.

         “A friend,” she finished, since the man seemed to have issues completing sentences.

         He grimaced.

         “So,” she drawled. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be out fighting aliens or something?”

         “Nope!” He answered too cheerily. “Official day off. Only aliens left are the non-murder kind.”

         “Ooookay…”

         “You know Phil Coulson?” his eyes narrowed as he spoke.

         So did Darcy’s. “Who wants to know?”

         “Me.” In an instant he went from spastically strange to leaden. “He talked about you, you know. All the way to SHIELD. He said you were a cellist.”

         “You saw Phil?” All the energy she seemed to be lacking over the past week ran through her at once. “Is he okay? What happened? I tried calling him and Clint, but no one-“

         “Clint’s fine,” he told her. “Well, close to fine.”

         “And Phil?”

         He didn’t have to say anything; it was the hesitation that did it. The tide of energy she rode on crashed, and she felt herself wobble for an instant, calf knocking hard against the coffee table. She steadied herself, eyes on the floor. He mind went completely blank. Stark was talking, something about taking classes for this sort of thing, and she managed to get out a single word.

         “When?”

         “Right before the invasion.” His voice was subdued. “He tried to take on a madman by himself. He didn’t make it.”

         She nodded; it just felt like the right thing to do. She reached up and wiped away the water collecting under her glasses. “Did he get him?”

         “Loki’s in cus-“

         “Loki? Thor’s brother Loki? Destroyer sending Loki?” Her voice was climbing. 

         “He was escaping. Phil confronted him.”

         Darcy ran her hands through her hair. She wanted to run down the street screaming but the sun was shining, and she didn’t want to feel it on her skin. He was dead and the sun was shining and the weather was warm. It wasn’t right. It should be raining, the wind should be howling. There should be thunder and lighting and darkness. Instead it was a bright, sunny day.

         Stark was saying something to her, and she forced herself back to the present.

         “Here.” He handed her a white business card with a number printed on it, and below that a series of words. “That’s a direct line to JARVIS, and the code to get him to speak to you. You can call day or night, any time, and he’ll pick up. You need anything, let me know.”

         She ran her finger along the sharp edge of the card.

         “I’m sorry,” Tony said when she didn’t answer him. “Phil was a good guy.”

         “The best,” she sniffed and raised her eyes. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

         He shrugged. “Number,” he said. “You need anything, call and talk to JARVIS. Just don’t give it out to the press or anyone.” 

         “Merlin,” she blurted out. “Our cat, Merlin. Phil had him before….”

         “Merlin.” Stark repeated. “What’s he look like?”

         Darcy dug out her phone and started going through pictures. The HTC wasn’t as nice as a STARK phone, but it was what she could afford. She finally landed on a good picture of their cat. 

         Stark took out his phone and pointed it at hers for less than a second, then looked at the screen. “Got it,” he said. “I’ll have JARVIS hack SHIELD’s records. He’ll find him.”

         After that there wasn’t much to be said. Stark excused himself with several reminders for her to use the card ‘for anything’, which for him somehow included donuts and new cello strings. He climbed into his mega limo and was gone.

         Darcy stared after the limo a long time before she turned around and closed the door carefully behind her, Stark’s card clenched in her hands. Aunt Ginger and her mom were at the doctor for Diane’s chemotherapy, so the house was oddly silent. She wished more than anything that one of them was there now. Phil was gone, and there was nothing she could do. She never got a chance to say goodbye. To tell him she loved him. 

         She was upstairs and in her room before she really thought about it. Darcy got to her room she closed the door and turned the lock blurry eyes searching. The lock was a new acquisition, because if her mother barged in her room again after nothing but two brief knocks she couldn’t hold herself responsible for her reaction. She stumbled to her dresser and dug around until she pulled out Phil’s old Captain America t-shirt. She never wore it, and when she put it to her face she could smell him: soap and detergent and a hint of Brut and _Phil._

         She’d never get to smell him again.

         Darcy slid down her dresser to the floor, pressed her knees into her chest, the shirt against her heart, and sobbed.

* * *

          “We’ve reduced the sedatives, Director. With the type of injury he sustained there is no way to know when Agent Coulson will regain consciousness.”

         “And the nanites?”

         “100% deactivated as of last night.” He tapped a section of his touch pad. “They’ve already begun flushing from his system.”

         Fury nodded a dismissal and ran a trained eye over Coulson. The man was still pale, but not deathly so. The nanites (the ones he was still leery of Dr. Banner finding out they appropriated) worked better than expected. The labs were officially two weeks away from human testing when he gave the order to have them delivered, but there was no other option. Phil coded four times in four days. Either the nanites would kill him, or the injury would. So far they were working beyond everyone’s expectations.

         “You’re going to get better, Agent Coulson,” he informed the unconscious man. “You’re going to get better, because we still need you. You’re not done yet.”

         The other man’s heart rate and respiration remained constant.

         Fury exited the small private room in Tompkin’s recovery unit, face impassive. Tompkin’s Hospital was one of four that SHIELD used to house their more seriously injured people. At the moment three others from the helicarrier were there, though none with such severe injuries. He visited the others briefly, assuring them that what he needed was for them to get back to 100%. It wasn’t unusual for him to visit injured agents, but he wanted to maintain at least a façade of indifference. Philip Coulson was an agent, a good agent, but still just an agent.

         The Director turned down a side hallway and keyed himself into the mental health ward. The reports on Barton were better than Coulson’s, but not by much. The man showed classic signs of PTSD: sensitivity to noise, paranoia, and avoidance of everyone except the Director and Romanov. Clint still wasn’t sleeping more than two hours at a time, and it showed. According to his debriefing Loki didn’t allow any of them to rest while he had them under his control. 

         He stopped in front of the door to Barton’s room. The man was sitting in a corner, elbows on his knees, head against the wall with his eyes closed. For a moment Fury thought he was sleeping, until he noticed the rhythmic movement of his fingers. After a moment the fingers stilled and Barton opened his eyes. They were red-rimmed, the skin beneath puffy and bruised.

         Fury hit the com. “Agent Barton.”

         “Sir.” He stood slowly but remained in his corner.

         Nick opened the door and slipped inside. The room was small, but not claustrophobically so: plain, grey walls and ceiling, the bed and side- table bolted to the floor. The three cameras were discrete, the bathroom small and simple. “Sikes tells me you’re doing better.”

         Barton from before would have rolled his eyes, cracked a joke about therapists and rapists. Now Clint lowered his gaze. “Glad one of us thinks so.”

         He nodded towards a tray with a half-eaten sandwich sitting on a paper plate.“You’re eating.” That was a battle, getting the other man to eat without Loki’s say-so. 

         “Necessity, not choice.” Some of the old Barton shone through then. He sobered. “Sir, Nat said Phil-“

         “That’s not your concern right now,” Fury rode over him. “Focus on getting back.”

         Barton looked ready to protest, but he swallowed whatever he was going to say. “And Loki?”

         The words were flat, neutral, but every muscle in the other man’s body clenched. Anger was good in Fury’s estimation. It meant Clint was feeling something. “Thirty-six hours and he’s back in Asgard. Get some sleep and we’ll let you see him off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> The reference to Darcy being Pepper's doormat is a shout out to AraSigyrn's [ Beautiful Thing ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/548363), and it is so worth the read and is a Darcy/Pepper rarepair. 
> 
> The fic is coming along slowly now, but she is coming along. She hasn't been abandoned, and I have no intention of doing so in the foreseeable future. 
> 
> once again, thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Apologies for the long wait between posts. Hopefully I will be able to get to a regular updating schedule after this. Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> Also, there is programming language in this chapter, despite the fact that I am not a programmer. I apologize in advance if it makes anyone twitch.

        Phil woke up slowly to a world of pain. His throat was sore, his limbs felt leaden, and he couldn’t move without sending throbs of pain through his chest. The room was standard SHIELD medical; beige walls, white ceiling. There were no curtains that he could see, so a private room then. His fingers moved along his bedding and he felt something slip off his fingertip. 

        He remembered being stabbed, a shout that had to come from Thor, trapped in the Cage. Remembered shooting Loki and struggling through every breath; knowing his lung was filling with blood, that he was dying and wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye. He tilted his head. There were no signs of someone keeping vigil over a loved one, no bags or detritus that he could see. He must not have been unconscious for very long.

        “Agent Coulson?” 

        He tilted his head towards the voice. “Hhhoo,” his throat felt like it was full of razorblades. 

        “Please, don’t try to talk yet. You were intubated for several days.”

        Several days? Something must have happened if Cassie wasn’t there.

        A woman, older, with grey peppering her black hair, entered his field of view. “I’m Joyce Beyers, your nurse,” she continued. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly two weeks, Agent Coulson.” 

        Two weeks.

        “You were stabbed aboard the Hellicarrier and airlifted here,” the woman’s voice was calm, soothing, as she returned something to the tip of his finger. _O 2 sat,_ he filled in mentally. “You’ve been kept unconscious to facilitate healing. Dr. McCoy should be in in a few minutes, and he’ll answer any questions you may have.” She disappeared for a few moments and came back with a plastic pitcher. “Thirsty?”

        He was. His mouth was dry, his tongue painful.

        The first sip of water of heaven, and he held it in his mouth, trying to wet every surface. He raised his arm, ignoring the twinges of pain, and gripped the pitcher himself. Beyers let him hold it, but kept her hand ready. Thankfully, he didn’t drop it and douse himself with ice water. 

        “Good to see you awake, Agent Coulson.”

        The doctor was standard SHIELD issue: white coat, slacks, button down shirt, but not one he recognized. He gave a slight nod.

        Years of working for a clandestine organization gave him plenty hospital experience. He waited patiently as the doctor ran through his checks, making notations on his chart and giving small asides to the nurse. He checked Phil’s responses to stimuli (his left arm was a little weaker than he remembered, his chest felt raw and abraded and his lung didn’t like when he breathed very much), and declared him farther along than they planned. When he was done the man sat in the room’s single chair.

        “Do you remember being injured?”

        Phil thought back to the last thing he remembered. The hellicarrier, going to special containment. Loki. “Some.” God, he couldn’t remember talking hurting that much.

        Dr. McCoy nodded. “You were stabbed, Agent Coulson. The blade went through your chest, punctured your lung and nicked the aorta, as well as caused severe muscle and nerve damage.”

        Phil frowned. He didn’t feel like all of that happened. He felt more like he’d been shot with a vest on. “Wh…” he coughed, and it felt like razorblades sliding down his throat. “What…”

        “Talking right now will be painful, Agent Coulson,” the doctor informed him. “You were intubated for a protracted period of time. It will take time to heal.” 

* * *

        “ _Nicholas Fury, current acting Director of SHIELD. 6’2’’, 175 pounds, bald, eyepatch over his left eye, total pirate with a kink for leather-“_

_“Darcy.”_

_She blew a raspberry. “He’s still a pirate.”_

_Phil moved from rubbing her ankles to her calves, and the man should have been a masseuse, because she was melting into the couch. “Maria Hill.”_

_“Maria Hill. Current Assistant Director of SHIELD. 5’6’’, 120 pounds. Brown hair, blue eyes, complete and utter badass.” Phil tweaked her calf and she giggled. “I know what she looks like Phil. And what she sounds like. We’ve met.” She kneaded his shoulder harder and grinned when he let out a sound that would be a moan from someone not Phil. “Can we call it a day?”_

_He stopped his massage. “Darcy, it’s important.”_

_“I know.” She twisted so she could see the side of his face. “And we’ve gone over it three times. If I make a presentation from memory will you declare me proficient in Potential Bad News Deliverers?”_

_There was no warning. One second he was still, the next he twisted around was tickling her for all she was worth. Darcy screamed, but she was trapped between Phil and the couch and couldn’t wiggle free. “Cheater!”_

_“It’s called taking advantage of the situation,” he corrected, before pinning her down for a kiss._

  

        Darcy blinked up at her ceiling. It was still dark, so she couldn’t see much. She hadn’t thought about that day in August for months, not since Phil disappeared that October.

        _Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Gerald Hildebrand, Patricia Kelly…_ Darcy rolled out of bed and dived for her pajama pants, wrestling them free of the growing pile of clothes at the foot of her bed. She didn’t throw it away, she knew she didn’t. When her hand closed on the small card she fist pumped and reached for her phone and the lamp switch.

        “This is the private communication line for T.S.” The voice was posh, and British, and did not sound like a recording. “Please say or enter your identification passcode.”

        “Five, six, eight, three, three, seven, six nine…popsicle?” 

        “Identity confirmed. Good morning, Darcy Lewis, how can I assist you?”

        Okay, that was so not creepy. “Umm… I need to speak to Tony Stark. It’s important.”

        “Mr. Stark is not readily available at this point in time,” the voice continued. “However, I have been instructed to assist you with whatever you may need.”

        Darcy took a deep breath. “Can you tell him Phil’s not dead.”

        There was a small pause. “Putting you through to Mr. Stark now.”

        

        It was nine in the morning when she landed in New York, hastily packed carry-on in hand and wondering how the hell one Darcy Lewis, college drop-out got into these situations.

        She didn’t really expect to be transferred directly to Tony Stark. It had to be around four in the morning for him but the man didn’t sound sleepy. “Jarvis says you think Agent’s still alive,” was the first thing he said.

        “Jarvis? I was talking to Jarvis?” And okay, so she was geeking out a little bit about that. She just had a conversation with the world’s first fully functional (and rumored to be completely sentient) AI. She was allowed.

        “You’ve got a fan, J,” Stark said, and he sounded more than pleased. “So… Agent…”

        Right, the whole reason for calling. “He’s not dead,” she repeated.

        Anyone else might have listened to her explanation, sympathized, given her the number of a good therapist, and called it a night. Because she was dealing with Tony Stark she got a warning to ‘get dressed and pack light’ and twenty minutes before a Lincoln Town Car pulled into her driveway. She hoped the gigantic ‘HE’S NOT DEAD!!!’ on the whiteboard in the kitchen was enough explanation for her mom and Ginger. She kept expecting to wake up in bed the victim of a cruel, especially vivid dream, but the longer it went on the more she began to hope. She ran through everyone Phil ever told her about, every connection. Nowhere on the list of people who’d tell her he died was one Anthony Stark, billionaire.

        It was a thin hope, but she’d take it.

        The Lincoln dropped her off on the actual tarmac, in front of what looked like a private jet and Darcy gulped. She was in slip-ons, jeans, and a sweat-shirt. 

        “Ms. Lewis, I’m Captain Roberts,” the man waiting by the stairs took her bag. “Welcome aboard.”

        She cleared her throat. “Thanks?” 

        If the pilot noticed her confusion, he ignored it. “We’ve been chartered short notice, but we have a fully stocked kitchen if you’d like an early breakfast.”

        “Yeah, I…” she trailed off when they got up the stairs, because holy hell, it was good being rich.

        The pilot handed her bag to a flight attendant, who stowed it somewhere before leading her further into the plane and depositing her in the comfiest leather chair she’d ever sat in. Seriously, the thing was sinful. “I’m Sara, your in-flight attendant. Is there anything I can get you Ms. Lewis?” The woman asked. 

        “Orange juice?” Darcy squeaked.

        “Pulp or no pulp?”

        She almost laughed, but Sara’s face was so serious she swallowed it. Apparently juice was serious business for the filthy rich. “No pulp.”

        When Sara vanished into what Darcy imagined was a kitchen better stocked than her own, she took in everything. Cream colored leather furniture, a wooden sidebar that gleamed in the soft lights, tables with freaking _lamps_ , and carpet soft enough for her to slip off her shoes and dig her toes in. If she wasn’t already crazy about Phil and 70% sure he was alive she would make a play for Stark, because flying Southwest would be like going to special hell after this. When they were in the air and she ordered breakfast (omelet, home fries, and sausages) she knew there was no going back. How someone managed to make an omelet fluffy at thirty five thousand feet she didn’t know, but the chef had her eternal thanks. After breakfast, when she started to doze and Sara suggested she move to the bedroom Darcy declined. There was only so much an unemployed person could take. 

        In New York she was handed off to a round-faced man named Happy and tucked into the back of a Rolls Royce. The drive into Manhattan was slow, but the chauffer told her to expect it. Everywhere she looked once they were on the island proper there were cranes and workmen. The damage was something else, and the closer they got to Stark Tower the worse it got. Seeing it on CNN was nothing compared to witnessing the destruction first hand.

        “Boss says you’re to go straight up,” Happy told her as he escorted her to a cement wall in an underground garage. He lifted his hand, waved it at about head level and the wall slid open to reveal an elevator. He reached in and pressed a button. “I’ll be down here in case you need anything.”

        She didn’t have time to say thank you before the doors closed.

  

        “You know, I can have Jarvis do this.”

        Darcy bumped her glasses up her nose. “How fast did you say your connection was?” she asked, typing furiously. 

        “Fast,” he responded as he leaned over it. “What are you doing?”

        “Working.” 

        “Buying flowers?”

        Darcy smirked. “Not quite.”

        It was a layover from the first time Phil vanished. If Jane knew all that Darcy did to compromise their server she would have been fired, but it was worth it to find out where her boyfriend was hold up. Unfortunately she hadn’t counted on the kind of security SHIELD used on their systems. When one of her babies finally managed to fight through the layers of SHIELD security to report back a simple website for a flower shop Darcy groaned in disgust. All of her programming knowledge, and all her little bundle of joy managed to discover was that someone in SHIELD really liked floral arrangements.

        The website was innocuous, one of millions on the internet. Unless you discovered that you couldn’t pull it up on any search engine. Even if you managed by some miracle to type in the exact address (long, but not overlong, vaguely floral but still just a little _off_ ) you would see nothing but a website for Conny’s Floral Arrangements located in Wilbur, Alaska. The arrangements were pretty, a little plain, and exactly what you’d expect from a mom and pop hocking flowers to the masses.

        She clicked on the image of a group of posies. Once the page loaded she began typing into the comments section:

        _/* ------------------------ TCP SIGNON ------------------------------*/_

  
_/* make sure we are running ibm's tcp/ip */_   
_waitfor 'IKJ56700A ENTER', 120 seconds : noinit;_

        “Is that… are you hacking SHIELD?”

        Darcy was in her element. “Watch and learn.”

  
_/*---------------------------MVS LOGON-------------------------------*/_   
_waitfor ' USERID -' : username, 30 seconds;_   
_nobcmsg:_   
_/* NOTE: IKJ56485I AND IKJ56400A STATEMENTS ADDED JUST FOR TSOXC */_   
_/* TO HANDLE ACCOUNT NUMBER ENTRY. */_   
_waitfor 'READY',_   
_'ENTER CURRENT PASSWORD' : p_enter,_   
_'PASSWORD NOT AUTHORIZED FOR USERID' : p_retry,_   
_'CURRENT PASSWORD HAS EXPIRED' : p_expire,_   
_'IKJ56425I LOGON rejected, UserId' : uronproc,_   
_'CURRENTLY LOGGED ON' : dup_log,_   
_'NOT VALID' : nouser,_   
_'IKJ56420I' : wrongid,_   
_'PASSWORD INVALID' : nopass,_   
_'RECONNECT SUCCESS' : recon,_   
_'NO BROADCAST MESSAGES' : nobcmsg,_   
_'IKJ56485I' : pass,_   
_'IKJ56484I' : entacct1,_

        Stark was next to her, his face scrunched to the display as she received responses and altered her queries. 

  
_'IKJ56481I' : entproc1,_   
_'IKJ56400A ENTER LOGON OR LOGOFF-' : wrongacc,_   
_'IKJ56400I ENTER LOGON OR LOGOFF-' : loffproc,_   
_20 seconds : nostrt;_   
_strt_sas:_   
_log 'NOTE: Logged on to TSO.... Starting remote SAS now.';_   
_/* tcpipprf option-locates TCP config data sets - value is site */_   
_/* specific and its need dependent on your TCP configuration. */_   
_/* noterminal suppressses prompts from remote SAS session. */_   
_/* no$syntaxcheck prevents remote side from going into syntax */_   
_/* checking mode when a syntax error is encountered. */_

        When she was done the website flickered, and they were staring at the official SHIELD logo and a familiar desktop. “We’re on.”

        “I love you. Did I say I love you? Because I do. Jarvis, we getting this?”

        “I have been recording as per my usual directives, sir.”

        Darcy looked at the ceiling. Was it weird for a computer to sound excited? “We are so building you a body after this.”

        Stark scooted up next to her. “Where are you?” she could see his eyes as they examined the information she was going through. “This doesn’t look like anything. Just results of field tests and astronomical research.”

        “Yep.” Darcy kept typing.

        “You think SHIELD hid Coulson in their dumping ground? Clever, a bit paranoid…”

        She rolled her eyes. “No, but I’m not looking for Phil.”

_Option Explicit_

  
_Const ForReading = 1_  
Const ForWriting = 2  
Const OverwriteExisting = TRUE  
 _Dim objFSO, strComputer, objFile, filesys, testfile, strPSExec, strCmd, objShell, strUser, strPass_  
 _Set objFSO = CreateObject("Scripting.FileSystemObject")_  
 _Set objFile = objFSO.OpenTextFile("C:\MADSCIENTIST\SEARCHFORSPOCK\data.txt")_  
 _Set filesys = CreateObject("Scripting.FileSystemObject")_  
 _Set testfile = filesys.CreateTextFile("c:\MADSCIENTIST\SEARCHFORSPOCK\ScriptFeedback.txt", True) '_  
 _strUser = InputBox("Please Enter Your Username: PCOULSON " & (Chr(13) & Chr(10)) & "(Format: domain\username) ")_  
strPass = InputBox("Please Enter Your Password: StRsPGlDGUy1960")  
 _Do Until objFile.AtEndOfStream_  
 _On Error Resume Next_  
 _strComputer = objFile.ReadLine_  
 _Set objShell = CreateObject("Wscript.Shell")_  
 _strPSExec = "c:\windows\system32\psexec.exe"_  
 _strCmd = strPSExec & " -d " & " -u " & strUser &  
_ _" -p " & strPass & " \\\" & strComputer & " cmd /c " & ///_  
 _\\\fileserver\SRESEARCH\ACTIVE\PROJECTTHUNDERBOLT\OCT2011/FLATFIELD4531276B.bat_  
 _\\\fileserver\SRESEARCH\ACTIVE\PROJECTTHUNDERBOLT\OCT2011\FLATFIELD4531276B.bat_  
 _objShell.Run strCmd, 0, False_  
 _If Err.Number <> 0 Then_  
 _testfile.WriteLine strComputer_  
 _Err.Clear_  
 _End If_  
 _Set objFSO = Injury+Report+May+6+2011_  
 _Loop_  
 _file.Close._

        Tony smiled broadly. “You’re good kid. Need a job?”

        “Maybe later.” She typed in another command and let her bots get to work.

        “Not looking for Phil directly?”

        “Thought about that.” She had, all the way to New York. If Phil was alive and SHIELD was keeping mum, they wouldn’t just have information on him being transferred sitting in their files. But somewhere there had to be information on the injured, where they were taken, and how they were treated. Once her program did its work it was just a matter of connecting the dots, and unless someone was monitoring Phil’s access specifically, it would look like another SHIELD agent utilizing a remote connection. When she pushed away from the computer Stark was staring at her like she was a shiny new toy. A possibly extra cool and relatively unknown toy. “Those files were already there.”

        “Yep.”

        “You pre-hacked SHIELD.”

        “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

        And that was how Darcy Lewis, Political Science major and college dropout, landed a job at Stark Industries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)


	6. Chapter 6

        “Tahiti?” Phil filled the word with as much disdain as he was able to muster, which at the moment was a considerable amount.

        Fury didn’t twitch. “Tahiti.”

        Coulson looked down at the dossier in his hands, eyes skimming the picture of a solitary building on an expanse of white sand beach. His day started out so well. He was allowed to dress in something other than hospital scrubs for the first time in days, and he couldn’t remember one of his suits feeling so good. He even thought he might manage to get the nurses to let him take a stroll around the grounds, something that was previously prohibited. Then the Director showed up and dropped this in his lap. “I could understand just about anywhere. Siberia, Australia, even South Africa, but Tahiti?” He looked up and let some of his frustration color his voice. “There’s nothing there.”

        “Exactly, agent. That’s why you’re going.”

        Phil examined his boss. Normally, Nick didn’t give away anything other than his namesake: an almost palpable anger that made sure his orders were followed quickly and without question. Now there was something else, a strange undercurrent he’d only seen a handful of times before that was there and gone almost before he registered it. “What’s going on, Director?”

        Fury sighed heavily. “Your survival is still classified level seven security clearance and above. We need to keep you under wraps until we can determine how well your return from the dead is going to go over with certain assets.”

        “I figured you were making me play dead when no one came to visit.” Honestly, he didn’t think it would last this long. The danger was past. “My sister might kill me for real if this goes on much longer.”

        “It’s not your sister I’m worried about.”

        No, she wouldn’t be. Cassie had a mean right hook, but she wouldn’t actually remove body parts for anything short of her children. Natasha on the other hand… “I’m sure Agent Romanov can keep this under wraps for however long I need to be a ghost.”

        “Her current partner might not.”

        Phil blinked. “I was unaware Agent Romanov was assigned a partner.” His voice moved from neutral to annoyed. His being kept out of the loop was one of a long list of things that made his hospital stay chafe. The staff knew nothing of SHIELD’s internal structure and Nick was keeping mum about damn near everything. He knew his agent was alive, that Barton survived being Loki’s tool. He knew the Avengers Initiative was officially sanctioned and running with all proposed hands on deck, but short of that, nothing. “She prefers to work alone.”

        “We need the Widow closer to home. The Captain is having more trouble adjusting to the twenty-first century than we believed. She thought it would be helpful to have someone around to ease him into the mainstream more than he has been.”

        Natasha would never just agree to hold Captain America’s hand, not unless the situation was worse than they originally planned for. “Dr. Harrison said he was adjusting fairly well, all things considered.”

        “Things change.”

        “Captain America understands the concept of top secret.” He was about to make a comment on how the man’s entire adult life consisted of the need for one clearance or another but that undercurrent was back, and this time he recognized it. “You feel guilty.”

        The undercurrent was gone, vanished as if it never existed. “I feel that it would be dangerous to place such a high value asset in the field before he was ready.”

        He bristled, spine snapping straight. “I was doing my job, sir.”

        “And you’re going to do it now.” Fury’s expression darkened. “Rest and relaxation, soldier, whether or not you fucking approve.”

        Coulson schooled his features into neutrality. Arguing with the Director when he was being intractable was useless, and might actually get his exile lengthened. “Yes, sir.”

        “Good. Now I believe you have a plane to catch in an hour. I strongly suggest you have your ass on it and thinking of what you’ll be doing for the next six weeks.”

        When Fury left Phil sighed, scanning through the packet. He didn’t have anything to pack, really. The majority of his clothes went down with the PEGASUS facility, and Merlin should be in Natasha’s hands any day now. He glanced at the phone next to his bed, the one that remained eerily silent since he woke. There were people he needed to call, people who cared about him and needed to know he was all right. Darcy and his sister needed to know he was still alive.

        _Stay safe!!_

        Phil shook his head and focused on absorbing the information for his next assignment.

* * *

        Natasha eyed the carrier sitting at her feet. “From who?”

        The UPS man shrugged. “Just sign ma’am.”

        There were only a handful of people who knew about her apartment on Long Island. Since Clint was just getting out of confinement and Fury knew better, it narrowed the list to the few people with the resources to track her down, none of whom would balk at using a cat carrier to exact revenge.

        A meow sounded from the floor. “It’s alive.”

        The man heaved a sigh and flipped through the screens on his pad. “The original sender is Happy Animal Boarding in Midland, Nebraska. That’s all I got. Cat’s name is Merlin.”

        She snatched the pad and flicked expertly through the screens before signing with a flourish, all before the briefest ‘hey’ could come from the deliverer.

        Natasha waited until the man was a good distance down the hall to reach down and grab the carrier. It was plain, dark blue plastic; the kind you would use to take an animal to the vet. She lifted the cage to her face.

        Deep blue eyes stared back.

        “Hey, Merlin.”

        A pale paw reached through the door and swatted at her nose.

        Natasha took out her phone and sent a text: _Cat’s in the bag. Call off the hounds._ Bad puns, but Hill needed more humor in her life. As she walked to her spare bedroom Shadow emerged from one of his hiding places and kept pace, trilling as they went. She shoved him aside when he tried to slip in the door before her, which earned her another trill of disappointment before he vanished.

        Safely away from her cat she set the carrier down on the floor and opened the front. When she first freed Shadow into his new home he was out of the carrier in a flash, took up residence under her bed, and refused to move for over a day. Merlin was pressed against the back of the carrier, a pale ball of fur that let out plaintive meows.

        She sat down to wait.

        It took almost an hour, but the cat finally poked his head out and looked around, ears twitching. Over the next fifteen minutes he examined the room he was in, sniffing and occasionally pawing everything he could reach. He spent the most time on a window ledge looking out at the unfamiliar skyline, tail lashing. She spent the time ignoring him in favor of one of the books she kept in the nightstand. When she felt a small head butt against her shin she reached down and let him sniff her hand until he rubbed against it. She busied herself scratching behind the cat’s ears until her hands caught on his collar and set off a small jingle.

        Merlin didn’t protest when she lifted him into her lap beyond a tightening of his muscles that released the minute his paws touched down. There, against his chest was a round marble clinking in front of his nametag. She unhooked the collar and examined the bauble. There was a slight indentation all the way around, bisecting it.

        Phil did enjoy _Men in Black_ far more than any sane person would.

        Natasha unclipped the name tag and exited the room. Five minutes, a screwdriver and a magnifying glass later, she managed to open the name tag and release a micro SD card.

* * *

        Living in Stark Tower was a cross between a vacation to Disneyland and a lunar colony.

        On the one hand, everything Darcy wanted was at her fingertips. Craving for cannoli? Jarvis had the number for the best bakeries in New York on speed dial. Run out of clothes? The AI had her scanned and a selection of clothing in her exact size (along with an embarrassing collection of underwear) ready for her perusal and ordering. When she insisted on digging out her meager credit card both Jarvis and Stark acted so offended she tucked it away and went on a mini shopping spree just to make them feel better. Everything was delivered (though she had yet to see an actual delivery person), and Jarvis pretty much anticipated anything she could want.

        On the other hand, the isolation was driving her fucking nuts.

        The suite of apartments wasn’t the penthouse (that was being repaired around the clock, and it really said something when you could get construction workers to keep working through the night) but it was still the best apartment she’d ever seen, let alone stayed in. The climate was a constant seventy-six degrees, the humidity was perfect, and the air had that freshness that only came with a very expensive filter. Or else Stark had crews working non-stop bottling fresh alpine air and shipping it back stateside, you never knew with him. She’d yet to see a maid, but the place was always spotless. She wouldn’t be surprised to wake up one night and find her room being scrubbed clean by elves.

        Stark rarely left the confines of his own private Candyland, choosing to spend most of his time there when they weren’t brainstorming over SHIELD’s encryption; a derivative of the one she used on Jane’s server which yeah, very flattering, but infuriating when she had to deal with it on the wrong end. Even Jarvis had difficulty with some of the permutations. Stark wandered through the living room at odd hours, even invited her into his man-cave to hang out when he was working on something he didn’t want to leave alone. She had plenty of experience being unobtrusive, and when he needed it she could snark with the best of them, so it worked.

        At least it wasn’t just the two of them. The first time she met Bruce Banner she was wearing her rattiest pair of sleep pants and her _I Feel Pretty, So Fuck Off!_ T-shirt, whipping up a batch of waffles because a kitchen like Stark’s should never go to waste and he never made anything more involved than popcorn. He shambled in wearing clothes that looked like he’d slept in them, floofy hair all over the place and walking like someone who stayed up all night and felt every second of it. He froze with eyes wide and panicked for a second before his expression settled into neutrality. Darcy just blinked. “Did my pants fall down?” she asked, glancing down to make sure that yep, she was still decent and not flashing the natives.

        The man flushed, and the combination of that with his hair was just adorable. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else for a minute,” he muttered, heading to the refrigerator. 

        “Nope, just me.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and held one out to him. “Darcy Lewis, kidnapee.”

        He glanced at her hand, and she had a second to think he wasn’t going to take it when he finally did, giving it a single shake before backing away. “Bruce Banner.”

        It took a second for the name to click, and when it did Darcy smiled. “Dr. Bruce Banner?”

        His expression turned wary. “Yes?”

        She never met the man herself, but Jane used to gush about his theories whenever she got even a little tipsy. If Pepper Potts was her free pass then Dr. Banner was Jane’s, though it was more a ‘pick your brain until there’s nothing left’ than ‘screw him into the nearest mattress ’ kind of pass. At least she thought it was, because with Jane Darcy had a real suspicion that one was like the other. “My former boss used to gush about your theories,” she explained before the man ran off, which judging the way he was eyeing the exits was a real possibility.

        “Former boss?” Banner frowned. “Tony didn’t really kidnap you, did he?”

        “Nope!” She turned and poured batter into the Belgian waffle press before closing the lid and turning it twice. “We’re playing spy against spy.”

        His expression turned bemused. “Who’s winning?”

        She beamed. “We are.”

        That was morning two; it was now morning five and they were still slogging through a massive amount of files all protected with SHIELD’s I-can-do-anything-better-than-you encryption. Who knew a top secret organization developed that much paperwork for a single alien invasion?

        “I still can’t believe you came up with this in a cave,” Darcy remarked from her small section of Stark’s man-cave as she took a break from dealing with encryption. He was dissecting some kind of weapon that looked like it was very alien and she was in the corner, hand hovering over one of the arc reactors. Jane would have a total fit when she told her she got up close and personal with one of the things.

        “Didn’t have much else to do.” Stark did something and there were entirely too many sparks. “J?”

        “Vesuvius protocol is in effect, sir.”

        Darcy trailed a finger over the circular device. It was warm, almost body temperature just sitting there doing its thing. “Got locked in a closet once. Couldn’t even manage to pick the lock and believe me, I had time. And hangers.”

        “Three months?”

        “Four days, give or take.”

        The sound of Stark’s tinkering stopped and she could feel him staring at her. “Four days?”

        Uh oh, she was entering _shit you don’t talk about territory_ , _abort! Abort!_ “Anyway. What’s with all the otherworldly crap?”

        Stark didn’t answer, which meant he was either too focused on what he was looking at to hear her, or he didn’t feel like playing twenty questions with someone who didn’t have at least three PhD’s. It was cool, she had more than enough experience dealing with mad scientist types. _Yes, Jane_ , she filled in mentally as she stretched, _you are a mad scientist and nothing you say will convince me otherwise._

        “Try not to blow up the universe, Stark,” she said as she started for the door. “I still have to find my boyfriend.”

        He yanked something free from the pile he was working on. “But it’s okay if I blow it up after?”

        Darcy stuck her tongue out. 

        

        


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck! Two updates in one week! Hopefully I'll be able to keep up the pace. My goal is to have this monster finished before Thor 2 comes out. Thanks for sticking with the story! you guys are awesome :)

        Tahiti was beautiful.

        Technically it wasn’t Tahiti, it was a small island off the coast that was supposed to be an environmental preserve, but since it didn’t have a name he called it Tahiti. That and he could see the bigger island on the horizon. It was everything an ideal vacation spot should be. The sand was white and sparkling, the water crystal clear and an almost surreal blue. The temperature was perfect; the kind of heat that soothed away the aches he steadfastly refused to acknowledge, with a sea breeze that carried the salt from the ocean into his new accommodations. His hut only looked like a hut from the outside. Inside was all polished wood and ultra-modern conveniences. He had satellite television and internet, a sound system better than the one he used at home, and a kitchen stocked with a surprising amount of his normal groceries.

        He hated it after the first six hours.

        Phil was one of three people currently on the island. He met Greg (no last name just “Hi, I’m Greg, the Care Taker”) after sloshing ashore from the small sea plane, bag over his shoulder. He was shown to his new home, informed that the supply plane only came once a month (any supply lists had to be turned in to Greg by the twenty-fifth), and left to his own devices. In the following hours he rearranged the kitchen to his liking, set up a queue of movies on NetFlix, unpacked some clothes that appeared to be taken from his spare apartment in Jersey and changed into something more fitting of the weather and location: khaki shorts, t-shirt, and the flip flops that were waiting in the bathroom. Once he was done he stood standing in the doorway, looking out at the blue water with a frown.

        The second inmate (because it was a prison, just an admittedly exceedingly nice one) was Dr. Janet Grey, a physical therapist. She arrived after the first hour of his X-Files marathon and invited him for a run, which turned into a physical examination, which turned into her insisting on seeing him three times a week for strength training and cardio. By the time Phil made it back to his small cabana the sun was starting to edge towards the horizon and his stomach was growling.

        Dinner was a quick toss of chicken and vegetables over rice. He ate out on the sand listening to the waves crash gently on the shore. In the distance he could see the lights of the bigger island twinkling like earthbound stars, and wondered if anyone could see the lone light from their island floating in the distance.

        As prisons went he’d had worse. At least this one let him keep his guns.

* * *

        “Ms. Lewis?”

        Darcy gave a small snort at Jarvis’ voice. She was in the position she last remembered: sprawled out on a couch that was a hundred times more comfortable than it looked, her ‘So You’ve Been Hired By Stark Industries’ new hire packet open in her lap on section 2: How To Deal with Tony Stark in Twelve Easy Steps (step 1: notify Pepper Potts immediately). It was almost five in the afternoon and the energy that carried her through last night (in which she and Tony had a drink-till-you’re-sober/dance party in the living room) and the hangover that followed was long gone. Thankfully so was the hangover, finally. “Yeah, Big J?”

        “Someone at SHIELD has become aware of our progress and is attempting to hack the data stream. How would you like to proceed?” 

        Darcy rolled off the couch, sending papers flying as she stumbled to a work station. “How good are they?”

        “So far the hacker has been unable to discern our intent, only that they have a security breach. Sir has set up several protocols in the event he was discovered compromising SHEILD systems. Which would you like me to implement?”

        “Any chance we can finish before they find us?” She waved her hands in the air and a virtual screen and keyboard appeared. “How far along are we?”

        “I estimate we have secured ninety percent of the data SHIELD collected during the invasion and in the aftermath. It is reasonable to assume that the information you are looking for is contained within those files.”

        She nodded. “Send them to some neo-revolutionary bullshit and cut the feed J.” Whoever was tracing them was good. It didn’t look like a bot, so that meant the person was in the feed directly. “Be gentle with them, though. We’ve been up in their shit for days now, that leaves a person feeling violated.”

        “As you wish.”

        Darcy smirked. “Please tell me that was a Princess Bride reference.”

        “I am unfamiliar with that particular property, Ms. Lewis.”

        She could tell by his tone that he totally wasn’t.

        “I have directed SHIELD to a domestic terrorist organization. From the information gleaned from several emails they plan on attacking the Castro district of San Francisco during Pink Saturday.”

        “Assholes,” Darcy muttered. 

        “Indeed. From the information it is clear they plan to deploy homemade bombs and cause as much carnage as possible.”

        She leaned back. “Should we call someone or something?”

        “SHIELD will no doubt handle the threat before Pink Saturday. It was one of middling priority. Having someone capable of hacking into their database will force SHIELD to escalate its timetable.”

        “Is that fancy AI speak for ‘round them all up tonight and kick the ever-lovin’ out of them?”

        “Yes.”

        Darcy fought the urge to steeple her fingers like some kind of supervillian. She settled for muttering “excellent” as she dived into the files. “Bring up what we’ve got decrypted so far.”

        Images popped into being a foot in front of her: virtual versions of SHIELD paperwork, sorted into neat stacks. “Bring up all personnel files from the attack on the carrier.”

        The files shuffled quickly, moved by Jarvis invisible hands. 28 SHIELD agents lost their lives in the attack on the Helicarrier and on the ground in New York. Another forty were injured in the battle and freefall. Darcy flicked quickly through the files and lingered on Phil’s. He wasn’t smiling in his picture, none of the agents were, but she could remember his smile clearly. 

        “Ms. Lewis?”

        Darcy shook herself. “Yeah, J. Sorry.”

        “I have cross-referenced SHIELD personnel files with the list of the injured and deceased and found a discrepancy,” Jarvis explained. Two glowing files separated themselves from the rest. “Agent Coulson’s lists him as killed in action. Another agent, Agent Branson, was listed as critically injured and moved to Thompkin’s Hospital in Massachusetts.” The webpage for the hospital appeared. 

        “Okay, J. What am I not-“ she cut herself off. Phil’s picture was still staring at her, but Branson didn’t have an ID to go with the file. “What does it say about Branson?”

        “Only that he was listed as critical and transferred. I should also note that while most of the information contained within the files remains encrypted there is a marked discrepancy in the size of his personnel file when compared to other agents. While data stamps indicate the file has existed for several years there are small errors that indicate it did not exist until the day after Agent Coulson was injured.”

        Darcy chewed her lip. “Where is he now?”

        “According to his file agent Branson is recuperating.”

        “Where?”

        “I’m afraid that information is not included.”

        Darcy growled and pushed away from the desk. The first solid lead they have and it’s a dead-end. Typical. “Any idea where SHIELD might keep their agents when they’re not saving the world?”

        Jarvis was quiet for a moment. “I will begin checking passenger manifests for all major rail and air lines.”

        _You haven’t beaten us yet,_ Darcy thought at the picture-less file in front of her. If push came to shove, she could have Stark buy her a bustier and interrogate Fury herself. Who knew, maybe a little inexperienced vamp would be enough to get him to spill his secrets.

* * *

        Officially SHIELD wasn’t keeping track of Darcy Lewis. The former assistant to Jane Foster only warranted limited contact so long as she didn’t do something to violate the terms of her non-disclosure agreements. Still, Natasha took it on herself to keep tabs on her if for Phil than for nothing else. Learning that Lewis had taken up residence in Stark Tower threw her for a loop. She couldn’t imagine how Stark and Lewis managed to meet, not with Fury making damn sure that Jane had no contact with the inventor whatsoever. Natasha considered her being in New York the same time she was as something close to providence.

        “Thor told me the cells in Asgard are pretty gross,” she whispered to Clint, pleased when the words brought a smile to his face. With the shades she couldn’t tell if it reached his eyes or not. Loki must have heard her, because he turned to give her one of his glares. She gave him a coy smile in response as Thor thrust the handle of Selvig’s device at him.

        One little twist, and the two aliens vanished in a flash of blue light.

        “So… what happens now?” Stark asked. 

        Natasha walked to the SHIELD vehicle she and Clint commandeered to see the Asgardians off. “Now we go back to what we were doing before this clusterfuck.”

        Clint humphed behind her, and it was good to hear that little bit of humor from him. He hadn’t laughed since being taken captive.

        “What? SHIELD’s not gonna insert tracking devices in our asses before letting us go?” Stark quipped. He turned to Steve. “If you’re wondering what that pain is… tracking device.”

        Rogers didn’t blink. “I know exactly what that pain is, Mr. Stark.”

        Tony mock gasped. “Did Captain America just sass me? Have I been sassed by an American icon of forthrightness?” He wiped away a nonexistent tear. “These are the moments that make life worth living.”

        Natasha rolled her eyes as she reached into the back seat of the small compact. “Yours isn’t in your ass, Stark.” She didn’t have to see him to know his hand flew to his neck.

        “I knew it! I told you, Bruce. Keep that woman away from sharp, pointy objects.”

        “I think you’re the only one who has to worry about that,” Bruce answered.

        Natasha pulled out his battered duffle bag. “As we agreed, Dr. Banner. You’re free and clear.” She didn’t add that there was an envelope at the bottom of his bag that contained fifty thousand dollars in small bills and her work phone number. He’d find it sooner or later.

        Bruce took the bag with a small smile. “Do I have to worry about tracking devices?” The question had only a little humor in it.

        “Fury keeps his promises,” she gave him her most direct stare. “You’re in the wind if you want to be. He’d still like you to reconsider a closer relationship with us. Completely on your terms.”

        Banner’s eyes said not on the coldest day in Hell. “I’ll think about it.”

        Stark was grinning. “Shall we, Dr. Banner?” he asked, gesturing to a car that Natasha planned on stealing sometime in the near future. 

        “Mind if I tag along?”

        Her question made both of their shoulder’s stiffen. “Why?” 

        “Darcy Lewis is staying at your place,” Natasha explained. “I have something for her.”

        Stark canted his glasses down and gave her a searching look. It wasn’t as bad as some she’d received, but it was close. “I won’t ask how you know Lewis is with me. You come, you deliver whatever, and you go,” he said. “No leaving SHIELD crap behind or disturbing Jarvis. It took weeks to get his code right after your little attempt at espionage.”

        “Agreed.” She started towards the driver’s side. “It’s unofficial business, anyway.”

  

        “I am certain SHIELD was unable to determine the origin of the security breach, Ms. Lewis. There is no need to panic.”

        “I’m not panicking,” Darcy said stubbornly. “I’m just…” Okay, so she was panicking, but it’s not like she didn’t have good reason. Tony gave her the heads up ten minutes ago that he was coming back, along with Natasha Romanov. Darcy wondered if she was the same Natasha Phil promised to introduce her to one day. Whoever she was, she had ‘unofficial’ SHIELD stuff to deliver.

        “Sir and company are currently in the elevator. Would you like me to allow them access?”

        “Would it matter if I said no?”

        “I’m afraid Sir can override any security measures inside the tower.”

        Great. “Sure. Just…give me a minute.”

        “I will slow the elevator’s ascent by ten percent.”

        She was so building Jarvis a body.

        When Stark and company made it up to the apartment she was mostly back under control. She even had Jarvis pull up some of Stark’s older Iron Man schematics as a basis for his new body. No sense in letting all that hard work go to waste. Tony took one look at what she was doing and barreled through the display.

        “No! Absolutely not, J! We talked about this. There’s no need to mess with perfection.”

        “You do realize that believing oneself to be perfect is often the sign of a delusional mind,” Darcy said with a raised eyebrow.

        “Did you just… did you just quote First Contact at me?” 

        Dr. Banner leaned in to the redhead who came up with them. “You’d better jump in there, or they’ll be at it all day.”

        Darcy shifted her attention from Stark to their guest. The woman was beautiful, and she felt frumpy in her ripped jeans and sweater. “Hi, I’m Darcy,” she said, holding out her hand. Tony and Bruce drifted further into the apartment.

        “Natasha Romanov,” the woman gave her a firm handshake.

        Darcy thought back to her single Russian literature class “Shouldn’t it be Romanova, since you’re like a chick and all?”

        That got her a raised eyebrow and a genuine smile (elective courses for the win!). “It keeps the Americans from getting confused.” She settled into a comfortable stance; feet shoulder length apart, her left hand grabbing her right wrist. It was a pose eerily like Phil’s. “I knew there was a reason Phil liked you.”

        “You knew him?”

        “We worked together. He was a friend.” The way she said it made Darcy sure friends, real friends, were something Natasha Romanov didn’t have a lot of. “He sent me something he wanted you to have.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a USB stick.

        Darcy took it. “He gave you this?”

        “Sent it in Merlin’s collar.”

        “Merlin?” She had to be dreaming on the couch. No one got this much good news in a single day. “You have Merlin?”

        Natasha nodded. “He’s at my place. He’ll have to stay there until you find other living arrangements. Stark’s allergic to cats.”

        “In my defense-“

        “Noted!” Darcy interrupted, before he started in on the plague that was twenty-first century pet ownership. What kind of sane person had an entire manifesto about the dangers of pet dander? “I’ll just,” she gestured to her bedroom as she stood.

        When she reached her laptop her hands were shaking so hard she had to fight to get the USB into the port. It contained a single video file.

        _“Hello Darcy.”_

        He wasn’t wearing one of his suits. Instead he had on a t-shirt that looked worn at the collar. His eyes were tired, hair slicked with water, and the room was lit by lamps instead of sunlight. It looked like the video was made before he planned to go to sleep.

        _“It is May 1 st, 2012. I started making these after October. If something happened to me I didn’t want you going without a last goodbye._” He paused. _“If you’re seeing this, then I’m dead, or missing in action, or any number of things really.”_ He smiled sadly. _“I know we’re not together right this second. I’ve spent the last few months trying to rectify that situation. I have all these convoluted plans that I never had time to implement.”_ He paused, looking away from the screen. _“Those don’t matter anymore. In case something happened to me I asked Natasha to look out for you.”_ She frowned, and Phil held up a hand. _“I know you can take care of yourself, but just humor me. She’ll need something to keep herself busy while she’s not on assignment, and if that means keeping up with you I’ll count it time well spent.”_

        Phil settled further into the chair. “ _We never really talked about us, our future; because I know planning relationships in general freaks you out. Luckily for both of us it’s one of my strong suits. I planned on telling you so many things, but if I had only three words to say to you, they are I love you._ _You never said it either, but I knew you loved me, baby, so you didn’t have to.”_ He smiled then, softly. “ _Goodbye, Ms. Lewis. Take care of yourself.”_

        The video ended on a still of him reaching for the camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be out before Thankgiving, but better late than never! Enjoy :)

        “I’m just saying cats are only semi-domesticated,” Tony said. “Dogs, cows, sheep… all fully domesticated animals perfectly happy with their roll in the universe.” He poured himself a drink. “Cats are the assholes of the pet world.”

        “So you’d let Darcy keep him if he was a sheep?”

        Stark blinked rapidly and sputtered, as if she’d literally thrown shit in his face. “No! Do you know the zoning laws I’d have to deal with keeping livestock in New York City?”

        Natasha and Bruce glanced at each other. “Why exactly do you know the livestock laws for New York City?” 

        Stark ignored her. “What’d you give her, anyway? Mini-me’s been in there for over an hour.”

        “Phil made recordings for his family.”’

        The words sucked the good humor out of the room. Banner didn’t have much contact with Coulson, but Tony had, and he cared more than he ever let on. “She gonna be all right?”

        Natasha catalogued the apartment Stark was sharing with Banner and Lewis. The penthouse was a mixture of Pepper and Tony: his sleek modern aesthetic mixed with her more forgiving organic touches. This apartment had no traces of Pepper in it, just Stark’s unrelieved ultra-modern sparseness. “Don’t know. Didn’t watch it.”

        “Hope he didn’t tell her to look after his card collection,” Tony muttered.

        “What about Phil’s card collection?”

        Stark jumped, literally jumped. “Umm… he didn’t, did he?”

        “No.” The younger woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, her nose flushed and swollen, but she was collected. “What about them?”

        “They were damaged,” Natasha filled in, because there was no way she was telling Darcy Lewis that the Director covered one of Phil’s most prized possessions in his own blood as a motivational device. “I believe the Director still has them, however.”

        “Oh… because he wanted them to go to Peter.”

        The assassin glanced at Stark, and the man looked like he was calculating the exact price of a replacement set. Never let it be said that the man was incapable of grand gestures. Or completely insane ones.

        “So… Phil said he told you to look out for me?” she started tentatively. “What does that mean, because we had wildly differing views on the whole looking out thing.”

        “Just pray she doesn’t stab you in the neck-“

        “It was one time. And you would have died if I didn’t, so get over it.”

        “Get over-“

        “People!” Darcy held up a hand. “Not that I don’t care, but could you answer my question before getting into ‘who should have been stabbed in the neck’?”

        Natasha gave Tony a blank look and dismissed him. “Phil just wanted me to help, Ms. Lewis. That’s all.”

        Before Darcy could respond Jarvis chimed in. “I believe I may have found the item you were looking for, Ms. Lewis. I have the information displayed in your quarters.”

        Lewis flushed, then went pale. “Oh… okay…” she gestured vaguely behind her. “Nice to meet you, Agent Romanova. I gotta…go do… stuff…” she vanished before Natasha could say goodbye.

        She raised an eyebrow in Stark’s direction, and he shrugged it off. “Kid’s dealing with a lot at the moment. Seeing Agent probably wasn’t on her agenda.”

        Stark was being cagey about something. She could tell from the tone of his voice and his body language. She didn’t know Darcy Lewis well enough to make a determination, but the girl had looked all but terrified before she explained why they arrived. “I have to get back to SHIELD HQ,” Natasha said. She handed Stark a card. “This is my private line so Darcy can reach me.” She also ran the risk of Stark hacking her phone, but it was a burner anyway. “See you, Jarvis.” She walked to the elevator.

        “Good afternoon, Agent Romanova.”

        Stark was still chewing out his AI when the elevator doors closed.

        

        It wasn’t a good picture. The man was wearing a suit, but there had to be a hundred other men in the same picture wearing different kinds of suits. He was the same height had build as Phil, and since she couldn’t run calculations like that in her head she was willing to trust Jarvis’ assessment. The most telling thing was how he managed to avoid being in the direct line of any camera in an airport. There always seemed to be part of a kiosk, or a person, or a hat just _there,_ obscuring the shot. He also made the entire walk through the airport without looking up, so no luck on the high placement cameras. She wished she could see his eyes, at least get a clear shot of his jaw line.

        “Facial recognition is currently at fifty-eight percent, Ms. Lewis.” Darcy would have said Jarvis sounded frustrated, but she didn’t think even Tony Stark was crazy enough to make a machine that could get frustrated. “I’m afraid that it is impossible to get a better determination at this time.”

        Darcy chewed her bottom lip. Fifty-eight percent. “Where’d he go?”

        “According to the gate Papette, Tahiti.” Jarvis paused. “I am unaware of any SHIELD facilities on the island. Nor has his name appeared in any hotel registries I am able to access. Unfortunately, the island does not have many CCTV cameras available for perusal.”

        Fifty-eight percent. “Nobody just disappears.”

        “No they do not,” Jarvis agreed. “But SHIELD has several decades of practice in making it appear so.”

        Which meant that her chances of finding someone they disappeared were slim to none. But she was looking at a picture of a stranger who just might be Phil. Darcy knew she couldn’t let it go, not when she might have what she was looking for. She was not admitting defeat, not until stood in front of him and saw for herself that it wasn’t Phil.

        Her door opened without so much as a knock. “Romanov’s gone,” Tony said as he sauntered in. 

        “Romanova,” she corrected absently. 

        She didn’t have to see Tony to know he was rolling his eyes. “So, I take it from the terrible exit that Jarvis found something?”

        Darcy gnawed her lip then decided what the hell. “Think you could get me to Tahiti without SHIELD finding out?”

        Stark’s smile was the biggest and most genuine she’d seen since meeting him. 

* * *

        Gregory Connors (Greg to his friends) found himself working for SHIELD at the tender age of nineteen. How he got involved with a covert government agency involved a pair of brunette twins, eight dollars and seventy cents in nickels and pennies tied in a Crown Royal sack, and an assassination attempt on the Prime Minister of Croatia. The twins were a distraction, the eight dollars and seventy cents were all the money he had in the world (earmarked for Ramen), and the Croatian Prime Minister was entranced by the boobs on the twins (which in memory were spectacular). The actual assassination attempt was a blur, but when everything was said and done he found himself surrounded by SHIELD agents after felling the twins, both of whom had drawn knives, with his sack of change. 

        He was thirty now, working on an island paradise looking out for wounded heroes and drawing a salary higher than anything he could have hoped for after dropping out of college. There were never more than ten agents in his care, and most of them wanted nothing but to be left alone to heal. If he occasionally had to deal with an unruly agent (three times in his tenure), or the inevitable tropical storms, it was well worth it.

        When the outlying sensors detected an unscheduled boat heading towards the island he put down his copy of _Catching Fire_. There were times when one of the pleasure ships would skate around the island, giving tourists a glimpse of an unspoiled paradise. Most stayed outside the two and a half-mile perimeter. This one was within two miles and closing.

        He waited another minute and frowned when the boat stayed on course. He connected to SHIELD. “Command, I have a Bermuda sloop heading our direction from the mainland. It’s passed the outlying sensors and doesn’t look like it’s turning. Sending transmission now.”

        He flicked the live feed to SHIELD actual. It was a beautiful rig, sailing with the wind and would be on their shores in about twenty minutes if they didn’t divert. It wasn’t anything to get excited about. A few times a year the rich and idle (or young and stupid) thought to use the island as a stomping ground despite the hefty fines for trespassing on an island preserve. Usually it just meant squawking a warning, or if they were particularly stubborn meeting them at the beach with his identification and his rifle. He zoomed in on the hull, and sighed at the name. _Suck It_.

        Rich, idle, and young it was.

  

        Alexandra Jones liked where she was in SHIELD. Let other agents risk their lives gathering government secrets and killing hostiles with their pinkies. She was level five and happy with her comfortable desk job overlooking security for one of SHIELD’s convalescent facilities. It meant she never really got a chance to beon the island since the worst injury she could expect to get in the office was a paper cut or a twisted ankle, but that worked fine for her. If she needed a trip to a tropical island she got one week paid leave every year. 

        “We got an ID on that sloop?” she asked a tech.

        The man frowned. “We have a mooring record for Bora Bora. Sloop is registered to one Anthony Stark.”

        “Jesus jumping up fiddling Christ,” she muttered, leaning down next to the tech to read his screen. USS Suck It, registered to Anthony Stark. “How many bodies on board?”

        “We’ve got four heat signatures, two up top, the other two below decks.” Jenkins zoomed onto the deck. “The man at the helm is not Tony Stark. Running facial recognition now.”

        Agent Jones picked up the phone on her work station, the phone she never, _ever_ had to pick up before and hoped she never had to pick up again. When the line connected she didn’t identify herself, they would know who she was.

        “We have a sloop registered to Tony Stark heading for Eden. Please advise.”

        Ken cleared his throat. “We have a visual on one of the other signatures. Running facial…” she could hear the frown in his voice. “Second signature appears to be Darcy Lewis, former SHIELD employee.”

        Jones relayed the information and there was a click.

        “You have a sloop registered to Tony Stark heading to Eden with Darcy Lewis on board?”

        Agent Jones stood up straighter. “Yes, sir.”

        Fury was quiet for a full minute. “Lewis gets access.” The line went dead.

        Jones released the breath she was holding and reopened the line to Connor. “Be advised, Agent Connor: Darcy Lewis has been given access. Lewis only.”

  

        Darcy wished she could just curl up and die. Sea sickness was one of those things created by an uncaring God to punish those who dared brave the ocean for travel. How else could she simultaneously experience nausea, vomiting, dehydration, and gut curling cramps all at the same time? The pills the captain of the ship gave her didn’t do very much but make her sleep, and the entire time she was conscious her stomach did its best to exit her body through her mouth. 

        Stark flew them into Bora Bora, claiming he needed a vacation after saving New York from alien destruction and that Bruce definitely needed one for not destroying the tower in the weeks he was in residence. It wasn’t a random chartered jet this time, but a full on Stark Industries tricked-out-to-Tony-fricking-Stark’s-specifications-haters-to-the-left private jet. It took some convincing to get Bruce to agree, but she put on the puppy-eyes and promised to make him as many cranberry cream cheese muffins as he could eat. It was either that or the promise of white sand beaches and beautiful women in bikinis. Darcy liked to think her muffins were the deciding factor.

        Once on Bora Bora Happy drove them to Stark’s mansion (because seriously, why _wouldn’t_ he have a mansion there?) then drove her to the marina. Thus began twenty-seven hours of pure hell as they headed for Tahiti. It was lucky she loved Phil, because she couldn’t imagine doing this for anyone else.

        “We’re coming up on your destination now, Ms. Lewis,” Jorge announced over the PA.

        Darcy groaned and rolled out of bed, making sure to stay close to the walls. You’d think with all the running to the bathroom she had to do she would have her sea legs by now, but she was strictly a solid ground person. Every time the ship shifted she crashed into a wall, or a piece of furniture. It was luck most of it was bolted in place.

        On the deck the air was clear, the sun blindingly bright. Ahead of them she could see a green mound surrounded by blue and white. When they finally reached Tahiti and she was able to step onto solid land they spent hours wandering around the docks asking questions. Well, Jorge asked the questions and she parked it on a bench and sucked down as much sweet, sweet liquid as she could, even if it meant most of it would be coming right back up once they were back underway. 

        Jorge proved to be more than just a good captain. It took him two hours to find an old fisherman who recognized the picture of Phil as someone who boarded ‘the plane’ and headed for ‘the island’. The island turned out to be an environmental preserve that somehow managed to have a monthly delivery service. The man shrugged when they tried to get more information. 

        _“He says they come, and they go,” Jorge explained, translating from the fisherman’s French. “Sometime more, sometime less, but the plane loads up supplies once a month.”_

        _“And he saw Phil?”_

        _Jorge showed the man the picture again, and he nodded before talking in clipped French._

        _“He says it was him, nearly three weeks ago.”_

        _Darcy set down her coconut (when she asked for something to soothe her stomach a street vendor cut the top off a coconut, stuck a straw in and gave it to her, and damned if it wasn’t a little piece of awesome) and got on legs just starting to get their strength back. “Let’s get going.”_

        Darcy hung on for dear life as the island got closer. Technically they weren’t supposed to be there. The island and the surrounding waters were part of a nature preserve that had a strict no visiting policy. She figured what the government didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It wasn’t like they planned to have a drunken kegger or spear baby turtles.

        The radio came to life with a hum of static. “USS Suck It, this is Rapa Pai nature preserve, do you copy? Over.”

        Jorge picked up the mike. “This is USS Suck It, Rapa Pai. Hearing you loud and clear. Over.”

        If she didn’t currently feel like she was going to die, Darcy might have giggled. 

        “USS Suck It, you have permission to dock on the north end of the island. Passenger Darcy Lewis has permission to come ashore. Over.”

        Jorge looked at her and Darcy shrugged before grabbing for a handhold as the ship hit another wave. Looked like they were in the right place.

        

        He had sunburn.

        He _hated_ sunburn.

        Phil worked the aloe into his shoulders, ignoring the deep ache in the center of his chest as he did so. He’d developed a deeper tan than he thought possible over the past weeks, but that didn’t mean he could just fall asleep outside without consequences. The skin on his back and neck was deep red and felt full and hot to the touch. Tomorrow he wouldn’t be able to put on a shirt. 

        He was in his third week of isolation. Three weeks of the same routine. Of waking up, exercising, watching TV and sleeping. The only break from the routine came when he was being evaluated by Dr. Grey. Three weeks of wondering just what his sister would do to him when she discovered his death was greatly exaggerated, if Darcy would ever speak to him again. At the moment not speaking to him for the rest of their natural lives seemed like the least possible reaction. Actually putting him in the grave might be closer to the truth.

        With a sigh Phil let his arm drop. There was enough aloe on his shoulders and neck. It was the rest of his back that would be the problem, and he didn’t feel like bothering Greg or Dr. Grey for help. Greg gave him a single pointed look before digging through his supplies for the aloe gel and warned him to keep covered if he didn’t want to die of skin cancer before he was sixty. As if his thoughts summoned them there was a knock on the door.

        “Come in,” he called absently, wondering if he could spread aloe gel on the smooth side of the back scrubber and use that.

        The footsteps were light, so it had to be Dr. Grey. “Greg ratted me out, didn’t he?” Phil asked as he stepped out of the bathroom. “I told him…”

        He stopped. Stopped walking, stopped moving, stopped _breathing_.

        “Hi.”

        Phil swallowed. “Hi.”

        She was standing in the doorway wearing a sarong in his favorite shade of blue; the one that turned her eyes to ice and made her skin milk pale, and dark blue flip flops. She looked a little bedraggled, her eyes bruised and her skin a touch too pale, but she was the most beautiful thing he could imagine seeing.

        “Tell me I’m not dreaming, Phil,” she asked, eyes brimming. “Tell me this isn’t some fucked up dream and I’ll wake up and you’ll still be dead.”

        He set down the bottle of aloe gel and took a tentative step forward. “You’re not dreaming, Darcy. Promise.”

        She smiled at him, and it was so beautiful it made his stomach clench. Darcy took a small step towards him, then another. He had the feeling that she was trying very hard not to run and take a flying leap. They met in the center of the hut, her eyes focused on his chest.

        The scars were ugly; one short, puckered line above a longer one that bisected his chest. His time in the sun made them almost the same color as his skin. According to Dr. Grey there were matching scars on his back, and Fury hadn’t told him how he managed to survive being run through by Loki’s staff. He knew wounds, and knew that the scars he had told of a killing blow.

        Darcy’s fingers were gentle, running along one scar, then the other, before settling her palm over the larger one. “I thought you were dead,” she said, not looking up. “They told me you were dead.”

        “I’m sorry.”

        Her breath hitched and she took a step forward, pressing her forehead against his chest, her palm pressed between them. “But you’re alive.”

        Phil folded his arms around her, frowning at the way she shook, her breath hot and moist against his chest. “I wouldn’t have done this to you on purpose.”

        She nodded, skin dragging against his before she looked up with a sniff. “So, are you stuck here forever?”

        “Two weeks, three days until review. It’s up to Dr. Grey to determine whether I’ve recovered enough to return to duty.”

        Her arms snuck around his waist and he hissed. Darcy stepped back with a concerned frown.

        “Sun burn,” he explained. “I fell asleep outside this morning.”

        Darcy went into full nurse mode, and in less than a minute Phil found himself spread out on his bed as Darcy slathered the gel on his back so carefully he barely felt the brush of her fingers. That done, she went to the bathroom and rummaged through his cabinet before reappearing with two ibuprofen and a glass of water. At his raised eyebrow she rolled her eyes. 

        “I lived in New Mexico, remember? There’s a reason I wore all those layers. Hardcore Irish over here can’t tan to save her life.” She settled on her side next to him and tangled her calves with his. “But once you’ve peeled you’re gonna have an awesome tan.” Her hand hovered over his back, traced the contour of his shoulder. “Might have to take advantage of that.”

        He moved in to kiss her, and Darcy leaned back. “Really don’t want to do that right now,” she said. “Breath mints do not a toothbrush make, and I hate sailing. Like truly, seriously, hate sailing.” She poked his chest.

        “There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” he volunteered.

        “You don’t say?” her smile was sultry. Darcy swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, then quickly dropped back down onto the bed. 

        “Darcy?”

        “Just give me a minute. The whole sailing thing? Sucks. Sucks so hard.”

        Ten minutes later they were in the infirmary. Dr. Grey kept giving him the evil eye about his sunburn, but Darcy’s condition kept her occupied.

        “Severe dehydration,” the doctor said as she prepared to start an IV. “You’re lucky you didn’t pass out on the dock.”

        “Lucky, that’s me.” Darcy’s eyes went saucer wide when she saw the needle. “That is not going in my arm.”

        “Darcy,” she turned to him and he took her other hand. 

        “So what happens now?” She asked. “You just show back up and say, ‘hey guys! Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated’? Because I’m pretty sure Stark might do something weird, like kidnap you.”

        He was about to ask when she met Tony Stark when Greg stuck his head into the small room and waved a satellite phone. “The Director wants to talk to you.”

        Phil walked over and took the phone. “Sir?”

        “I take it Lewis arrived safe and sound?”

        He half-turned. Dr. Grey was ready, and from the look on Darcy’s face she wasn’t having any of it. “For the most part, sir. Have you traced how she found out about the island?”

        “Not yet. Your girlfriend is more trouble than she’s worth.”

        That was probably the highest compliment Fury would give someone not working for him. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

        “You owe me one, Coulson.” Which was Nick Fury for he would think up something especially strange to make Phil pay for having a girlfriend smart enough to not believe his bullshit and resourceful enough to know where to turn.

        “You ruined my cards, Nick,” he countered. “Let’s call it even.”

        The Director hung up and Phil handed the phone back to Greg. The younger man had an entirely too sappy smile on his face. “So….?” He drawled with a glance in Darcy’s direction.

        Coulson kept his face blank. “Yes?”

        Greg backed away, hands raised. “You two love birds have fun.”

        Phil cringed inside but kept his expression the same. After a few seconds Greg wandered off, whistling and twirling the phone on its lanyard.

        “Phil!”

        He turned and hustled back into the infirmary. Darcy was backed as far as she could go on the bed, while Dr. Grey stared at her. 

        “Coconuts!” Darcy said as he approached. “In Tahiti they gave me coconuts. A couple those babies and I’m fine!”

        Dr. Grey sighed. “Severe dehydration, Ms. Lewis. This will help faster than coconut water.”

        Darcy switched tactics. “Don’t you outrank her?”

        Phil shook his head. “If you can stand on your own, then we’ll head back to my place.”

        “Traitor!”

        He glanced at Dr. Grey and moved to kiss Darcy’s forehead. The doctor used that moment to start the IV. When he leaned back Darcy’s eyes were watery with unshed tears. “Still a traitor,” she pouted, then dropped her head back onto the pillow. “This is so not how I imagined our reunion.”

        Phil settled into the chair next to her bed. “How’d you find me?” Fury was adamant about him not contacting anyone, and he knew SHIELD at large thought he was dead.

        “Tony Stark told me you were dead.” She smirked. “He wasn’t on the list.”

        He moved in to kiss her and Darcy backed away again. “Dude, seriously. This mouth doesn’t need visitors right now.”

        He just smiled and kissed her anyway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dr. Grey inject something into Darcy’s IV line. “Thanks for coming after me,” he said when he pulled back.

        “Like I’d fall for the old ‘he died saving the world’ shtick,. Oldest trick in the book.” She rubbed her fingers together and frowned down at them. “Are they supposed to feel like that?”

        “It’s the scopolamine,” the doctor said. “It should take care of the dizziness and lingering nausea.”

        “Thor’s totally sorry about his brother, by the way. They went back to Asgard a couple of weeks ago.” She half sat up. “Did you ever notice that he had the horns of doom on his arm thingies?”

        Horns of doom? “Not really.”

        “Oh, well, he so did.” Darcy giggled. “Jarvis and me are best buds, too. Breaking into SHIELD’s like the best way to get on his good side.”

        “You worked with Jarvis?”

        “Yep! Stark is a genius. Just never tell him I said that. Ever. Fancy apartment or not, his head is big enough.” She smiled. “I kinda work for him now. Got a contract and everything.”

        Oh dear God, he was already paying for it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a year since the first part of this story! Thanks everyone for sticking around. Hope you enjoy this last part :)

_One year later_

  

       Asgardian relics sucked.

       When she first learned of Asgard and Thor Skye was just like everyone else; half scared out of her mind and half intrigued. The Pentagon was quick to point out that while Thor did exist, he was the alien the myths were based on, not an actual deity. That didn’t stop a four thousand percent increase in neo-paganism in the months following the New York invasion. All she could think about at the time was what kind of tech could make a hammer give a man the power to fly and control lightening. Not to mention the whole coming to him from wherever it happened to land. SHIELD’s readings of the kind of energy the hammer gave off were way above her paygrade (technically), but it was still interesting.

       Now all she could think about was how much Asgardian tech sucked.

       After Ward slunk away she sat at the bar, wondering if he would really be all right. The staff had messed him up big time and he refused to talk about it like he needed to. She worried about May too but May was just…May, which said more about her normal state of mind than Skye felt she could deal with. Coulson mentioned something about them taking extended down time for assessment, which probably would put Ward even more on edge. She just hoped he stuck with abusing punching bags.

       She hadn’t wanted to drink alone after he disappeared, partially because of the man old enough to be her grandfather who kept looking at her, obviously building up the courage to come over and make a play. She managed to talk Jemma and Leo down from their nerd party in Jemma’s room. Seriously, they just met an alien in the flesh and lived to tell the tale, you’d think they would celebrate a little instead of spend their time off duty squealing over readings. So she dragged them away from their tablets and into the bar, where they commandeered a table near the back.

       “We haven’t completed our initial assessment, of course,” Jemma started after their third round.

       “And there isn’t much we’ve been allowed to actually _study,_ ” Fitz interrupted with a scowl.

       Jemma sighed. “I mean, if we could have more than a few seconds with the alien technology we could, theoretically, reverse engineer one of those blasters. None of the elements we scanned were _too_ exotic.”

       Skye looked between them. “So SHIELD’s just gonna lock everything up and that’s that?”

       Fitz and Simmons shared a long suffering look, then raised their glasses. Skye followed suit, and they all knocked back their shots. Not for the first time Skye was impressed with their ability to handle their liquor. Who knew scientists were such hard drinkers.

       She was about to comment on it (because there was no way it didn’t involve a hilarious story) when the last person she expected walked through the doors. Skye went to raise her hand, hoping to get Phil’s attention, when he made a beeline for a stacked brunette sitting alone on the opposite end of the bar. He smiled down at her and said something lost to the bar’s soft music. Whatever it was must have worked, because he sat down seconds later.

       “Oh my God, Coulson is totally getting his mack on.”

       Fitz and Simmons moved to turn around and Sky reached out, grabbing their hands. “Don’t! He’ll feel you looking at him or something.”

       Fitz paled. “Coulson?” he whispered, taking his glass off the table.

       Skye rolled her eyes. “What are you, twelve?” She plucked the glass out of his lap and put it on the table. “We almost got killed by alien tech. Considering the kind of month we’ve had, I think we deserve a drink.” 

        The scientists looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or run and hide. “Who’s he talking to?” he asked.

       “Remember the brunette in the far corner?”

       The man’s eyes went round. “The one with the…” His eyes cut to Jemma. “Cheery smile?” he finished lamely.

       “Yes! The one who’s our age.” Skye removed her hands and sat back, trying to play it cool. Coulson could probably smell if a person was nervous from ten yards. His back was to them, but she could see the mystery woman clearly, and she looked happy to be there. “He’s talking to her now, and she’s all smiles.”

       “I say we go up and say hello,” Jemma said after a handful of tense seconds.

       “And ruin probably our best chance at gathering blackmail material on Coulson?”

       It was the wrong thing to say, because two pairs of terrified eyes swept to her. 

       “The last person who tried to blackmail Agent Coulson-" Fitz started.

       “Interpol is still trying to prove she _existed_ ,” Simmons finished. “Let alone that she had any contact with SHIELD. He would kill us and they would never find our bodies, and I for one would like to have a headstone.”

       Skye rolled her eyes as hard as she could. “I can’t believe you two actually believe all the cloak and dagger hype around Coulson. The guy’s…” not _harmless_. He could definitely bring the menace when he wanted to. Plus he never balked when it came time to put down his pen and pick up a tek-nine. “He wouldn’t kill you. You work for SHIELD. It’d be too much paperwork. Besides-” she cut herself off, because the brunette’s smile went way beyond friendly, and she was running one high heeled foot up the outside of Coulson’s leg. 

       Skye took out her phone and with the quick help of her purse and a napkin had it set up to where it was recording. Both Fitz and Simmons looked scandalized. “What?” she asked when she was done. “Maybe she’s some kind of femme fatale sent by the people responsible for Project Centipede, did you ever think of that?” Because the thought of Phil hitting on someone young enough to be his daughter ( _your age_ , part of her brain wouldn’t stop screaming) was just a little creepy.

       After another minute the woman glanced in their direction and stood, picking up her purse. She leaned down and whispered something in Coulson’s ear before slinking (because seriously, there was no other way to describe that walk) away. Coulson stood, adjusted his tie and started after her.

  

       Phil hadn’t wanted to book a room for himself at the Four Seasons. Ward and May deserved it, though, and May refused to be singled out, so that meant rooms for everyone. What he wanted was to head for Dr. Foster’s apartment and apologize to Darcy in person for not being there when she needed him. By the time they were cleared to head to Greenwich and take over recovery and cleanup operations it was four days from her first frantic phone call.

       He called a third time and cleared his throat when it went to voicemail _again_. “Darcy, it’s Phil. I’m staying at the Four Seasons in Canary Wharf, room 1004. We’ll be here for the next three days. Give me a call so we can meet up.”

       He sighed, determined to go down and cancel his own reservation and spend the rest of their downtime on the Bus. The only reason he got the room was because he hoped Darcy would join him. They’d barely seen each other since Nick put him back on active duty and she decided to help Foster train a new intern. They texted, talked on the phone and emailed incessantly, but that couldn’t make up for actually _being_ with each other, even for a few hours.

       Phil’s phone rang and he felt a thrill of excitement until he saw it wasn’t Darcy. “Sir?”

       “How is containment progressing?”

       “We have the site eighty percent contained,” Phil started, switching into work mode. “Most of the materials have proven to be of Earth origin. I’m sure the rest of the debris will hold the same pattern.” 

       “And this Asgardian you’ve found? I understand he is coming back stateside.”

       “I assumed it would make him easier for SHIELD to keep tabs on.” Not to mention Portland was an excellent city. 

       Fury made a noise somewhere between pleased and ‘they don’t pay be enough for this bullshit’. “And Thor?”

       “As far as Dr. Foster is aware he’s still on Asgard, though he did promise to return.”

       “Which means he’ll be gone for another two years.”

       Phil hoped not. Thor wasn’t a bad guy once you got to know him. “Is there anything else, sir?”

       “You have seventy-two hours down time pending the assessment of your team, Coulson,” he informed him. “Enjoy it.”

       Coulson hung up. He would enjoy his downtime, but it seemed the person he wanted to enjoy it with was avoiding him.

       He was on the elevator when his phone beeped. _Hotel bar, northeast corner_ , read the text message. He grinned and slid the phone back into his pocket. Maybe he wasn’t as far in the doghouse as he thought.

       The bar was crowded, the nametags still on some of the more inebriated declaring they were part of a business convention. He brushed past them and there she was. She’d dressed up for him; eyes smoky, hair curled and wearing a formfitting black and white dress didn’t show any skin but hugged her curves in ways that made him need to clear his throat before he spoke. 

       “I don’t suppose saying I was really busy covers it.”

       Darcy smiled up at him and Phil winced inside. That smile was never a good sign. “Oh, it doesn’t even start, soldier,” she said lightly, nodding to the chair across from her. “But you can sit.”

       Phil did so with a deep sigh. “How are you?”

       Darcy shrugged her shoulders. “Aside from being scared out of my mind, having my scientist kidnapped, chased around by crazy space elves while the universe tried to tear itself apart? All while SHIELD was giving me the brushoff, I’d like to add. Then getting kidnapped after the fact and kept in a holding cell for three days while said SHIELD assholes ‘debriefed’ me? Not bad. You?”

        “I was in Eastern Europe when it started, under blackout conditions.” It was more than he should have told her, and Darcy knew it. Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders. “By the time I was back in the loop there was nothing to do but handle the cleanup. And then there was another situation.”

       “I saw on the news. Norway, right?”

       He nodded. “It’s been taken care of.”

       “You know, before if I so much as sneezed SHIELD would be there with a proctologist and a specimen bag. Now I call and it’s all ‘please leave your name and number and your call will be returned in the order it was received’.” Darcy leaned across the table. “Is it because of the new protocols for Jarvis? Because if it is that’s childish, even for Fury. He couldn’t have enjoyed hacking Stark’s AI that much.” When he glanced away she sat back with a laugh. “Seriously? He’s having a tantrum like a ten year old because I took away one of his toys?”

       He wouldn’t tell her that Fury had given him a ‘in no way is your girlfriend allowed on SHIELD property as long as she works for Stark’ speech the first time they weren’t able to override Jarvis. Followed by an ‘it was your responsibility to develop her into an asset, not make sure she works for that asshole’ dressing down when several of their backdoors into SI’s systems were blown a month later. “I think it has more to do with his ringtone constantly being set to ‘Mulatto Butts’.”

       “That so wasn’t me.” When he raised an eyebrow she folded her arms. “What? It was either that or the audio from MILF Gushers 25. I actually had to talk J down from that one. He has a mean streak.”

       “That may be the reason SHIELD was wary to answer any requests, you know.”

       Darcy smiled devilishly at him. “I totally won Stark’s Evil Genius of the Year Award for that.”

       “I believe it’s called Stark Industries Technological Innovation and Excellence Award,” he deadpanned.

       “Party pooper,” she pouted. When he smiled she ran her foot along his calf. “Fine. I can’t stay mad at you. You did send me roses. And chocolates. And those banging Lou Boutins.”

       He glanced down. “They do look good on you.”

       Darcy leaned back in her chair, foot still moving in a lazy caress. “You know, some people might consider it dangerously close to a bribe, Agent Coulson.”

        “Did it work?”

       Darcy stood up, and he was able to admire the full line of her dress. She leaned down. “Considering how tough you’ve had it, I thought I’d get you an early Christmas present, Agent,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear.

       Phil swallowed. 

       “It’s waiting to be unwrapped.” She stood straight, and her smile sent a bolt of heat down to his toes. “Coming?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> 'Mulatto Butts' is a shout out to the TV series Archer, and you can listen to the ringtone [ Here ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azesI46Vds4).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This part of the series will be a little longer than the sad storyline I think, as if will incorporate more characters and what not.
> 
> On timelines: I'm trying to do a more realistic take on the end of the Avengers movie, where things take actual time to happen, so there will be things that happen immediately in the movie that will take a week or two to occur in the fics. Also, this will integrate some parts of Iron Man 3, not a lot, but some spoilers will be present. It's nothing that a dozen fics haven't already theorized about before, so I hope it wont be too terrible for anyone who still hasn't seen it.
> 
> If you haven't, please do. It is awesome :)


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